


A Good Fall

by ohwise1ne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben doesn't know how to use crutches, Ben is an asshole movie star, Did I mention sexual tension, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, Kylo Ren has arrived, Lots of sexual tension, Physical Therapy, Possessive Kylo Ren, Rey has magic hands, can physical therapy be sexy?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwise1ne/pseuds/ohwise1ne
Summary: Ben Solo doesnotlike to be touched. He has never accepted a massage from any of the pretty young women Snoke likes to send to his changing room, white towels draped over their arms and smelling of oils and incense. Aside from a few misguided, alcohol-fueled trysts, he doesn’t remember the last time that someone has laid their hands on him outside of a movie set.But the sweet brush of Rey’s fingers on his skin is like heaven. Ben is sure he is melting on her exam table. The firm press of her fingertips continue dragging up the cords of his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He feels his lips parting gently to the cool air, trembling.“Is this all right?” she murmurs, sugar-sweet.“Yes,” he tries to say. He prays he didn’t let out a deep groan instead.ORBen Solo refuses to take a stunt double and pays the price when he breaks his leg filming his latest action blockbuster. His new physical therapist, Rey Sanders, seems to be the only person in Hollywood who doesn’t recognize the infamous Kylo Ren – and for some reason, he finds himself fighting to keep it that way.





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Eight weeks?_ ” Ben stares at the doctor in disbelief, jaw working uselessly before he finds his voice again. “No. That won’t be possible.”

“I’m afraid you will have to make it possible, Mr. Solo,” the smug-faced doctor says, not looking up from his chart. “That is, if you ever would like to walk without those crutches again.”

Ben is filled with such panic that it takes him a few moments before he can school his face into the scowl that has made him famous in multiplexes across the country. “Your job was to get me back on set before the end of this month.”

“I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.” The man flips a page on his clipboard and continues to write. “Perhaps if you had stayed off the fracture during the first two weeks of the injury, your recovery would be more expeditious.”

Ben leans back against the wall, his head swimming. Eight weeks of physical therapy. Three times a week. And he will be stuck in this damned cast for the indefinite future. Shooting is scheduled to start up again in a week and a half.

Snoke is going to murder him.

Feeling desperate, Ben decides to change tact. “Doctor Chang,” he begins with as much patience and good-will as he can muster. “Surely we can work something out. There must be some sort of alternative arrangement…?” He attempts to arrange his facial features into something more pleasant than its usual grimace.

Doctor Chang glances up from his clipboard, catches sight of Ben’s attempt at a smile – and suddenly is staring at him with an expression of deep concern. “Are you in pain, Mr. Solo?”

“My career is in pain,” Ben bites out through gritted teeth, dropping any attempt at affability. “And your medical license will be as well if you don’t get my foot out of this _damn cast_.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Doctor Chang returns to looking bored. “If you’d like to threaten me, you might have more success when you’re not in a medical gown.” He places the clipboard on the counter and fixes Ben with a stern look. “Your leg will heal, Mr. Solo, but you must have patience. You must follow my directions. And you _must_ attend eight weeks of physical therapy.”

“Fine,” Ben spits, grabbing his crutches. “I’ll do it.”

He must sound sufficiently compliant – or perhaps he just looks too pathetic for Dr. Chang to bear, wincing as he attempts to rise and puts too much weight on his useless foot – because the man seems to take pity on him.

“Here’s a recommendation, if you would like to expedite the healing,” Chang says, scrawling something on a notepad and tearing it off. “She’s the best in town.”

Ben grunts his thanks and grabs it from him. He pointedly ignores Chang when he asks if Ben would like any help changing back into his clothes.

It’s not until Ben has limped outside to his car before he opens the crumpled note and reads the name scribbled inside.

“Hi,” he says unhappily, when the receptionist answers his call. “I’d like to make an appointment with Rey Sanders.”

XX

Ben’s not sure what he’s expecting when he arrives at Jakku Rehabilitation’s downtown office, but it’s not this.

The building is squat and nondescript. It’s set in the corner of a dingy parking lot, beneath a heavily-trafficked overpass. There is no sign by the road.

He double-checks his GPS – yes, he’s in the right place. Ben scowls out his car window and wonders if this is Chang’s way of getting him back for acting like such a prick. _The best in town_ indeed.

Ben sighs and turns off his car. He might as well give it a shot.

Pulling his hood tight over his head, Ben pushes his sunglasses up his nose. It’s as much disguise from the paparazzi he can hope for. There’s not much more he can do to hide his hulking, six-foot-three frame.

What’s worse, he takes an embarrassingly long time to cross short distance from his handicapped parking spot to the front door, shuffling along clumsily on his crutches. When he finally reaches the entrance, he debates attempting to plow through the door before begrudgingly slapping the button for automatic entry.

Nothing happens.

Scowl deepening, Ben hits it again. Still nothing. He feels his temper begin to rise as he leans toward the door and gives it a few hard knocks.

“Hello?” he calls out, with great irritation. What kind of physical therapy center doesn’t have a functioning automatic door?

A light switches on inside, and suddenly a young woman is standing in the doorway.

“I can’t believe they still haven’t fixed this useless thing,” she says, with a lilting British accent that he recognizes from his phone call yesterday. “Come in - and please don’t mind the carpet, they’re tearing that up as well.”

Ben’s annoyance drains out of him in one big rush. The woman standing before him is beautiful. He feels a spike of triumph – Chang might have been trying to make his life more difficult with this recommendation, but he clearly had never met the receptionist here. Ben follows her inside with as much dignity as he can muster on two crutches, looking ridiculous in his sunglasses and hoodie.

The waiting room is empty, but for a few beat-up chairs and one sad-looking plant. When Ben feels they are sufficiently far enough from the front door’s glass paneling, he pauses so he can pull down his hood and take off his sunglasses. With no small amount of dread, he turns to watch her face and wait for the moment that she realizes.

But there is no glimpse of recognition in her face as she gives him another apologetic smile. “We’ve only just moved into this location last week,” she’s saying, sounding as frustrated as he felt a few moments ago. “Here, let me take your jacket. Isn’t it a bit warm out there for a coat?”

Her tiny face frowns up at him, perplexed. Ben considers telling her that he can’t travel anywhere without a jacket if he doesn’t want to be swarmed by photographers and squealing fans.

“Thank you,” he says instead, and promptly tries to wriggle out of the hoodie while still maintaining his balance on the damned crutches. The result is surely a comical sight to behold. Gritting his teeth, he braces himself for her laughter – but instead, feels a surprisingly strong grip at his elbow.

“You don’t have to –“ he begins, but she interrupts.

“Here, let me.” Steadying him with her hand, the young woman helps him shrug out of the hoodie. “It’s my job,” she says, smiling up at him.

Feeling disconcerted, Ben just stares at her. “Right. Well, I’m here for my appointment with Rey Sanders.”

“Yes, we spoke yesterday. You must be Mr. … Solo, was it?”

He continues to stare at her dumbly as she hangs up his jacket on an aging coat stand. Was she being coy? Or had she truly managed to avoid passing through a movie theater for the past six summers?

“Ben Solo,” he replies, not used to introducing himself. “And you are…?”

“Oh. I’m Rey, of course.” She turns around, looking embarrassed. “Our receptionist up and quit on us right after the move, so I’ve been scheduling my own appointments. It’s been – a difficult month.”

There is a flash of weariness in her eyes, and Ben feels an unexpected stab of anger on her behalf. He is all too familiar with disgruntled and ungrateful subordinates abandoning their duties at the most inopportune of moments. His last production assistant’s dramatic exit had left him without an escort to keep him on schedule – which had resulted in quite an earful from Snoke.

The young woman seems to mistake his silence for annoyance, because she quickly starts speaking again as she leads him down the hall. “But don’t mind me, grousing about my problems. Clearly you’ve had a pretty rough go of it yourself.”

She opens a door at the end of the hall before throwing him another one of those effortless smiles. Ben is so caught off guard by the way she beams up at him that it takes him a few moments to realize she’s talking about his leg.

“That's one way to put it,” he mumbles.

Rey Sanders leads him into a small room that is full of so much sunlight it takes him several moments for his eyes to adjust from the dimly lit hall. The walls are lined with windows, and after blinking for several moments, Ben can see this is the only corner of the building that isn’t in the shadow of the overpass outside.

A vibrant collection of hanging baskets and leafy plants fill the brightest corner of the room, clearly enjoying the natural light.

Sanders must notice him looking at them. “This is one of the only reasons we took this building,” she explains. “It’s good to be surrounded by so much life. It promotes healing.”

At any other time, Ben would be happy to share his rather caustic opinions about the merits of holistic healing. Instead, he nods dumbly. His new physical therapist is even prettier framed by the sunlight, the window creating a natural halo around her hair. Ben forces himself to look away, frowning.

From across the room, Sanders clears her throat. “Shall we get started with a few quick questions, then?”

XX

As the man stands there silently, looking around at her cluttered offices with distaste, Rey feels the knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. Ben Solo is her first client since she left Luke’s office to start her own practice, and at this rate, she’s not sure if they’ll even make it past the first appointment.

 _He sees right through you,_ Rey thinks to herself with increasing doubt, noting the deep furrow of the man’s brow. _Stop wasting his time and tell him to find someone more qualified._

Instead, Rey brushes past him to pull out a chair in front of her desk, praying he will sit. “We’ll need to go over your medical history and talk about the story behind that ugly cast.”

To Rey’s great relief, he shuffles awkwardly across the room to take a seat. The injury must be recent, she notices; he still hasn’t learned how to navigate using his crutches.

When he is seated uncomfortably in front of her, Rey starts up her laptop, opening up a file to create a new patient: 001.

“All right, Mr. Solo,” she says as she begins filling out the form. “What is your date of birth?”

“November 19, 1987.” _30 years old_ , she thinks, after some mental math. Six years older than her.

“Height? Weight?”

“6 foot 3, 185 pounds.”

Rey can’t help sneaking a peak at his frame again. The man is _built_. She wonders what he does for a living – construction? Hauling railroad cars?

“Occupation?”

There is a beat of hesitation before he answers. “Film industry.”

Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes. Him and the other 70 percent of the Los Angeles population. She decides to attempt a joke. “Another starving artist, huh?”

It produces the barest twitch of his mouth. “You could say that.”

“Alcohol use? Smoking? Drug use?”

“Socially. No. And occasionally.”

“Sexually active?”

Another beat of silence. Rey lets her eyes glance back to him from her screen, and she’s surprised to see that the tips of his rather large ears have turned bright red.

“Why is that any concern of yours?” he says, frowning deeply.

“I – um – you know, I’m not sure that it is,” Rey backtracks quickly, tripping over her words. _Fuck._ Here was the part where he would surely get up and shamble his huge body back out of the room on those crutches. “It’s just a standard patient intake form, Mr. Solo – we can just move on if you’d prefer –“

“I’m not,” he interrupts her, not meeting her eyes. There is no mistaking the bright burn of his ears now. “Sexually active. Not in some time.”

Rey swallows, not sure what to do with this information. She is _definitely_ taking this question off her patient intake form as soon as he leaves today. “We’re just about finished,” she says awkwardly. “We just need to go over the incident that led to that cast of yours. So we can start developing a treatment plan.”

If possible, the scowl on his face seems to get even darker. Rey would be surprised if this man even returns for a second visit, never mind stays long enough to start a treatment plan. “What do you need to know?”

xx

If there’s anything Ben would like to discuss less right now than his lack of _sexual activity_ with the beautiful young physical therapist, it’s the circumstances that led to him becoming trapped in this mummified prison for his left leg.

The unpleasant memory of Snoke’s furious face swims before his eyes, berating him as he clutched his useless leg, consumed with pain. _If you’re going to refuse a stunt double, you will accept the consequences of your stupidity and the physical inconveniences that are bound to follow,_ Snoke had spat at him. _Now stand the fuck up and continue the scene._

The young woman’s gentle voice shakes him from his reverie. “Just the events that led up to the injury.”

“It happened while I was… on the job,” he mumbles.

Suddenly, Sanders is leaning forward, eyes flashing with something that looks like anger. “Then why aren’t you going through workers’ comp for this?”

Ben wonders what he’s done to insult her now. “They… didn’t offer it to me,” he says, which is half-true. He is making $15 million off of this latest film. He hadn’t even bothered to ask Snoke for _workers compensation_ ; he could just imagine the reaction he would have gotten.

Furiously, Sanders begins digging through a small box next to her desk. “This damn country, always trying to screw the little guy out of coverage,” she grumbles under her breath. “ _Here._ ” She pulls a weathered business card from the collection of odd items. “Great lawyer. Very reasonable. He doesn’t charge until you’ve got a settlement, and he’ll just take the fee from whatever they give you.”

Ben shakes his head, not sure if he is offended or charmed by her righteous anger on his behalf. “I’d rather not.”

She frowns at him. “Are you sure? Your job should be covering the cost of all your treatment, and supplementing your salary for your time off work.”

Ben bites back a bitter laugh. She hasn’t seen his contract. “I’m taking care of it.”

“But Mr. Solo –“

“That’s enough,” he interrupts her, a little too harshly, and immediately regrets it when he sees her face fall. “I… already have a lawyer.”

She looks wounded. Ben tries not to notice how his heart sinks as she tucks the card back into the box beside her desk. “If you say so.” She fixes him with a firm look, taking charge of the conversation again. “So what else can you tell me about what happened?

Ben swallows in a feeble attempt to regain his composure. He doesn’t know what it is about this girl that has him so affected.

“I work on set. At one of the big studios,” he tells her, speaking slowly. “We were shooting last week and I… slipped on one of the props.”

Ben’s not completely sure why he’s lying. He realizes he doesn’t remember the last time he was around someone who didn’t treat him like he was a ticking explosive, fearing to set off his notorious temper. He especially doesn’t remember being around someone of the opposite sex who didn’t immediately transform into a fawning imbecile in the presence of the great _Kylo Ren_.

But he _is_ sure that he wants this charade to last as long as possible. He wants Rey Sanders to stay exactly as she is, with her unassuming authenticity, her shy smiles and gentle reassurances. As though _he’s_ the one in the company of a star.

“When did you learn it was broken?” she prompts him, and Ben realizes she’s been waiting for him to continue.

“It wasn’t for another few days,” he admits begrudgingly. “I kept working through it. Until I wasn’t able to walk anymore.”

Her eyebrows shoot up as she types down into her notes his (rather abridged) version of events. “You must have quite a tolerance for pain.”

He feels his mouth twist in a bitter smirk. _Snoke would be proud._ “So I’ve been told.”

There is another awkward silence. When it becomes clear that Ben isn’t going to offer up any more details, Sanders clears her throat and pushes her chair away from her desk. “All right. We’ve just got to get through a preliminary examination, and then I can let you go for the day.”

Ben blinks. He hadn’t been expecting them to start anything physical today. But the young woman has already disappeared into the adjoining room, and Ben has no other option but to follow her, feeling clumsy and monstrous on his crutches.

This room is larger than her brightly lit office, and it’s filled with any number of colorful balls and yoga mats alongside an odd assortment of exercise equipment. In the center of the room is a raised table, besides which Sanders is now standing. She gives the surface a gentle pat.

As he struggles to the table, she comes to his side, her hand strong and supportive at his back. “First thing we’ll have to do is get you familiar with those crutches,” she mutters with a soft smile. “But we can leave that for our next session.”

Once he has awkwardly situated himself on the table, Rey Sanders crouches in front of him to examine his leg. Ben has to turn his gaze away before his ears start burning again.

“You’ll need to wear something a little looser for these sessions,” she says, eyeing his dark jeans, which he had folded up around the top of his cast. Ben grunts his assent, still trying to distract his thoughts from how she looks bent down in front of him.

“I’m going to gently move your leg now to gauge your range of motion,” she says, looking up at him with those big, light-colored eyes. “Let me know when it hurts.”

Ben nods stiffly, pointedly looking at a spot over her shoulder as she begins to move his leg in small motions back and forth. “Do you exercise regularly, Mr. Solo?”

“Not lately,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth as she pulls his leg a little too far upward. “Just weight lifting. But these damn crutches are a workout on their own.”

That gets a giggle out of her, and Ben feels warmth spread through his chest. “We’ll get you racing on these babies in no time,” she says, and pats his leg. She stands up. With Ben sitting down like this, she is nearly eye-level with him. “On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you experiencing right now?”

“Six,” Ben replies warily. Was this a trick question? His leg is particularly sore following her _gentle movements_.

“Just in your leg?”

Ben considers this. “My shoulders have been aching,” he admits. “Because of the crutches.”

Another one of those dizzyingly bright smiles lights up her face. “Well, there’s not much I can do for your leg right now, since it’s just our first session. But I can certainly get your shoulders feeling better before you walk out of here today.”

Ben only has a moment to process this before she is guiding him backward, helping him swing his broken leg onto the table so that he can lie down. There is the sound of wheels rolling across the tile, and then she is sitting behind him on a stool, her small face peering down at him from above.

“Just close your eyes and relax,” she murmurs.

Ben’s mouth is suddenly very dry. His eyes flutter shut obediently, and then there is the gentle press of small fingers, tracing his shoulders through his cotton shirt.

“Your form is all wrong on those crutches,” she tells him as her fingers start to press into the muscles of his shoulders. “Many people end up injuring their upper backs after a leg injury because they’re not using their crutches properly.”

Her touch is cool and sweet on the hot skin of his neck. She digs her fingers into the muscle confidently, twisting, as they search for the knots that have lodged themselves there. “Ah, there we go,” she breathes, and there is sharp pain followed by a flood of relief as those clever fingers work at a particularly stubborn knot.

It’s all Ben can do not to moan.

“Where do you feel the pain?” her voice floats down to him through the haze of sharply-edged pleasure.

“Right there,” he croaks, and his voice is embarrassingly rough. “And… my neck.”

If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. She remains silent for the next several minutes as her perfect hands continue to work his aching shoulders. When they begin to slide up his neck, the barest hints of her fingernails dragging along the sensitive skin below his hairline, Ben feels all the air leave him in a _whoosh_.

“Is this all right?” she murmurs, sugar-sweet.

Ben Solo does _not_ like to be touched. He has never accepted a massage from any of the pretty young women Snoke likes to send to his changing room, white towels draped over their arms and smelling of oils and incense. He has long despised any form of physical intimacy. As soon as he was old enough, he began rejecting the embraces of his mother, stomaching her wounded looks whenever he turned away from her open arms. Aside from a few misguided, alcohol-fueled trysts, he doesn’t remember the last time that someone has laid their hands on him outside of a movie set.

But the sweet brush of Rey’s fingers on his skin is like heaven. Ben is sure he is melting on her table. The firm press of her fingertips continue dragging up the cords of his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He feels his lips parting gently to the cool air, trembling.

“Yes,” he tries to say. He prays he didn’t let out a deep groan instead.

It feels like this goes on for hours – Rey’s firm, lovely fingers, press small motions into the base of his head, his neck, his shoulders. They work tension out of muscles that Ben didn’t even know he had. When she finally pulls her hands away, it takes all of Ben’s self-control not to let out a strangled sound of disappointment.

xx

Rey feels foolish now for asking him if he exercised. This man is built like a _truck_. He must spend all his time at the gym – when he’s not delivering coffee to the movie stars, or whatever he spends his days doing on those _major movie sets_. She would be suppressing another inner eye-roll if she weren’t so entranced with the man beneath her.

It’s not as though Mr. Ben Solo isn’t enjoying the attention. Under her hands, he looks completely transformed. All the tension has drained from his face, all traces of those impatient scowls that had punctuated their brief and uncomfortable interview. Lying here, Rey admits privately, he actually looks quite… handsome, in a rather unconventional way.

As the minutes blend together, Rey realizes that she can’t take her eyes off him. She knows she should be ashamed –  _he’s a patient, Rey!_ – but she can’t pass up the opportunity to examine this man now that he’s not glaring back at her with a frown curling his lips. And his lips… She can’t help but notice that they really are quite nice, as far as lips go. His mouth looks so full and soft when it’s not pressed into a thin line.

Suddenly, Solo’s eyes fly open.

The intensity of his gaze nearly paralyzes her. She realizes that her hands have stopped moving, but she can’t bring herself to look away. His eyes are so dark and fierce, his face slightly flushed, and Rey’s heart feels as though it might flutter right out of her ribcage.

Then Rey clears her throat, and the spell is broken.

“I’m afraid that will be all for today,” Rey says in a voice that is much higher than she’s used to. She rolls back her stool, cursing herself inwardly. “Hopefully that gave you some relief.”

Solo sits up on the table. He is still fixing her with that intense stare, making her fidget on the stool. She searches his eyes, but she finds she can’t read the intentions hidden there.

“It did,” he says shortly. He gives her one last inscrutable look, and then swings his legs to the other side of the table.

“Next session we can work on your form with those crutches,” she continues to ramble. She can’t seem to stop talking. “I have some great tips I can share with you.” _Smooth, Rey_. “Rey Sanders, crutches expert – they don’t call me that for nothing.” _Shut your stupid mouth!_ “We’ll have you walking again in no time, Mr. Solo.”

“Ben,” he blurts out suddenly, stopping her short. He’s staring at her again, and Rey’s heart skips another beat. “Call me Ben. Please.”

A smile spreads across Rey’s face. “Sure. Okay.” She nods, pulling herself together. “We’ll have you walking in no time, Ben.”

If she didn’t keep this room so dimly lit, she might think that a small, returning smile was tugging on his lips as well. (And she definitely is not still thinking about how plush and soft his lips look. Definitely not.)

“I look forward to it,” Ben Solo murmurs in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another one that's been simmering in the back of my head for some time now. Thank you for reading, and if you have a moment, leaving a comment with your thoughts would make this shy author feel good about sharing her trash with the internet!
> 
> I'm going to try to update this once a week, life permitting – though I wrote most of this chapter in a single day, so if I'm inspired updates will come sooner. And these two definitely keep the inspiration coming!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ultimatum from Snoke, followed by Ben Solo's second visit to physical therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually haven't been able to stop writing this since I posted the first part yesterday. So here are two chapters in two days. I hope you guys appreciate my lack of sleep (though it seems like poor Ben isn't getting much either, so if either of us sound delirious, you can blame it on the late nights spent obsessing over what's going to happen next in Rey's office).

Ben used to think there was nothing worse than running from the paparazzi.

But today, he discovers what it's like to run from the paparazzi in a pathetic, lurching crawl on a pair of fucking  _crutches._

He thought he could avoid them if he arrived at the studio early enough. But they have gathered here earlier than usual this morning, waiting hungrily for a glimpse of Hollywood’s favorite villain.

And as soon as they spot him lumbering down the sidewalk, they pounce.

Swarming around him like vultures, their cameras nearly blind him as they shout ridiculous questions in his ear, as though he weren't two feet away and attempting to break free from their horde like a wounded, limping beast.

“Look this way, Mr. Ren!”

“Hey Solo, give us a smile!”

“Hasn’t that broken leg humbled you up a little?”

“Are the rumors true? Is Snoke giving you the boot now that you can’t play the part?”

Most of their comments bounce off of him like pebbles on steel, but this last one stabs like a knife in an old wound. Ben’s face twists into a scowl, and he can feel the familiar burn of rage begin to rise in his chest.

 _"I am_ Kylo Ren,” he snarls, rounding on them. “There is no one else who will be starring in my movie.”

Even on crutches, Ben is satisfied to see that he is still sufficiently intimidating. The swarm of photographers falls back briefly, but for one brave, foolish soul, who points at his useless left leg. “But what will you do about your cast?”

“Bend over and perhaps I’ll find a good place for it,” Ben hisses before he can stop himself. He brandishes his crutch like a weapon at the pudgy man, who falls back several steps, eyes wide. “Now get the _fuck_ away from me before I bend you over myself.”

Triumphant at having shaken them, if only temporarily, Ben continues his precarious journey to the rear entrance of the studio. Once he has let himself into the building, however, he feels a pang of regret. He can just imagine how that’s going to look on the tabloids lining the grocery check-out aisles tomorrow. _Exclusive Photos! Kylo Ren’s Mummified Meltdown, page 3._

As if he needs further punishment for this lapse in judgment, Ben glances up to find his second least favorite person in the world waiting for him just inside the entrance.

“Hux,” he grunts, fixing the red-headed man with a steely glare.

“Well done, Solo,” the man responds by way of greeting. “Even when you’re out of work, you’re still front and center as the apple of Hollywood’s eye.”

“I’m not out of work,” Ben growls, but the effect is ruined as he struggles to keep up with Hux’s long strides down the corridor.

“You are welcome to take that up with Mr. Snoke,” Hux says, and throws a faux-pitying look over his shoulder from several feet in front of him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a wheelchair? My fragile old mother was visiting last week and the interns were _delighted_ to push her around.”

“Fuck off, Hux,” Ben spits, red-faced and a bit short of breath. A wheelchair admittedly sounds like a wonderful idea right about now, but fuck all if he is going to let Hux have an opportunity to mock him from above. It’s bad enough even when Ben has a good six inches on the weasel.

They finally ( _mercifully_ ) arrive at an elevator at the end of the corridor – the one that has access to the tower offices on the upper floors.

“I suggested to Mr. Snoke that we write in a terrible accident for the next shoot,” Hux says blithely. “You could spend the rest of the film comatose, instead of making those hideous faces for an hour and a half.”

It wouldn't be the first time he gave the man a black eye, Ben considers. It would be so easy, even with the damn crutches.

Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the glowing elevator button, straining his already-tenuous grip on his self-control.

He is already bringing Snoke some less-than-pleasant news today. It would be received even worse if it were accompanied by Snoke's sniveling personal assistant clutching yet another broken nose.

When the chrome elevator doors slide open, however, Ben can’t resist standing just close enough to Hux to make him uncomfortable as they begin their swift ascent to the towers.

Snoke’s offices are sleek and imposing, with plenty of wide open spaces, but Ben somehow still feels claustrophobic whenever he is summoned here. The walls are made of glass from ceiling to floor, offering a commanding view of the sprawling First Order Studios campus below.

Even though there are empirically more windows here than in Rey Sanders’ humble corner office, Ben notices, there isn’t nearly as much light.

Maybe it’s because the glass here is tinted black, and Ben can’t imagine any living thing surviving in the feeble sunlight that filters through it.

Maybe it’s because of the light Rey Sanders seems to exude all by herself.

Ben shakes his head to clear his mind of thoughts of his pretty new physical therapist. Distressingly, this is not the first time he has had to do this today – or even the second or third.

But Ben can examine that particular train of thought later. Right now, he needs to keep a level head while he faces First Order’s executive producer.

“Enter,” Snoke’s voice drifts through the huge pair of double doors, before Hux even has the opportunity to knock.

Inside his office, Snoke has opted to decorate with more red than the rest of the building's monochrome color scheme. Hux is fond of saying that the hue from the red bulbs has been found to stimulate deep thinking.

Ben has a different theory: Snoke is actually a vampire, and the eerie red light helps quench his thirst for blood.

As if to support this hypothesis, Snoke seems to be looking particularly bloodthirsty today. On a typical visit, the executive producer likes to keep Ben waiting when he enters the room, leafing through documents while Ben stands in silence, sometimes for minutes on end.

Today, Snoke is staring straight at him as they enter. He is leaning back in the high-backed desk chair that more resembles a throne, long spindly fingers steepled before him.

“Benjamin. How delightful to see you,” Snoke murmurs, not sounding delighted in the least.

Ben inclines his head respectfully.

“How was your little visit with Doctor Chang?”

 _Right into it, then._ “The leg will heal,” he says darkly. “And it’s feeling better. Thanks for asking.”

“Don’t be smart with me, boy.” Snoke glowers at him from over his steepled fingers. His eyes seem to glow with the red light of the room. “Your so-called _injury_ has caused me great inconvenience. The studio has had to book the location in Ireland for an additional week while I clean up your mess.”

Ben’s fists clench involuntarily, bracing himself. “We’re going to have to book it longer than an additional week,” he says stiffly. “Another two months, at least. According to your Doctor Chang.”

A deathly silence follows his words, and Ben feels his heart start to race. “Are you toying with me, boy?”

“Eight weeks of physical therapy,” Ben says through gritted teeth. He doesn’t like to have to repeat himself. “I’m as pleased with the situation as you are.”

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt that.” The words come out in a hiss from Snoke’s yellowed teeth, and Ben feels his temper flare.

“I’m doing everything in my power,” Ben starts, his voice clipped with anger. “Perhaps you have another leg I can borrow in the meantime, after you snapped this one with that suicide trap –“

Snoke cuts him off with an unusually cruel laugh, and Ben falters, stunned into silence. “So we have returned to blaming others for your own shortcomings,” he says scathingly, rising from his desk. “It is no fault of mine, Benjamin, if you are unable to perform the duties of the role as they are required. You have never been more than a long series of disappointments, boy, but now you are costing me _money_.”

He pauses to relish in Ben’s expression, which must look something close to a kicked dog.

“Perhaps the great Benjamin Solo is getting too old for this line of work,” Snoke murmurs in disgust, and the words twist in Ben’s gut.

“What do you want from me?” Ben bites out in a strangled voice. “What else can I possibly do?”

Snoke considers him for a few, heart-stopping seconds, and with each one that passes, Ben feels his future slipping through his fingers. He is suddenly filled with terror. This is it, he realizes. _Snoke is finally going to ruin him_.

But he doesn’t.

“Five weeks,” Snoke allows at last, and Ben feels relief flood over him like a bucket of freezing water. “Your leg will be healed in five weeks, or the studio will be dumping this worthless franchise where it has always belonged: in the trash.”

Ben feels a bit dizzy. Five weeks. He can do that. He remembers reading something about switching to a boot after some time in a cast. Perhaps he can get there quicker than most people.

Through the haze of his relief, Ben barely registers Snoke’s voice as he continues. “The Ireland shoot will be postponed until December. You will find a way to rid yourselves of those ridiculous stilts before then. I didn’t think it was possible for you to look any more like a beast, Solo, but you must forgive me – I’ve never cast you in a role with such hideous contraptions. When we are finished here, you will wait outside my office, and Hux will fetch you the address of the studio’s preferred physical therapy group to expedite your care.”

 _Physical therapy_. These words seem to rattle Ben out of his stupor, and unbidden, Rey Sanders’ face, smiling and sweet, materializes before him like a mirage. Ben makes a quick decision.

“No.”

Snoke pauses, and his little eyes narrow, unaccustomed to being interrupted. “What did you say?”

“No,” Ben repeats simply. “I already have an existing relationship with a physical therapist. I’m confident I will heal quickly under her care.”

He hears Hux snort behind him, and then his mocking voice: “ _Relationship_?”

A muscle in Ben’s jaw twitches, and he feels his ears start to burn of their own volition.

“Interesting,” Snoke says. “Very well, Benjamin. You may utilize this _existing relationship_ to the best of your abilities. Just know that the continued existence of your career hinges upon it.”

As Hux escorts him from the room, Ben realizes he feels more relief at this acquiescence than he did when Snoke permitted him to keep his job.

xx

Rey can’t remember the last time she felt so nervous before an appointment.

Part of her hadn’t even expected Ben Solo to set up a second session. Flustered as she’d been on Tuesday, she had forgotten to schedule a follow-up before he left. But an hour after his departure, her mobile began buzzing in her pocket, and Rey had nearly fallen over herself to answer, apologizing over her shoulder to the patient sweating through some squats as she fled to her office.

She definitely did _not_ sit alone at her desk, grinning like a loon, when she hung up the phone and wrote the name  _Ben Solo_ into her first slot on Thursday morning. At least, not longer than necessary.

Rey is a practical girl. She has had many patients before Ben Solo, and she will have many patients after him. She’s worked on _celebrities_ before, for Christ’s sake – or so Luke would tell her solemnly before introducing her to a new client. Rey never did have any interest in pop culture, and she certainly has never been impressed by the poorly masked resentment that would roll off that particular breed of client in cloying waves.

But this Ben Solo (a nobody, as far as Rey could tell, whose most creative description of his profession was “at the big studios”) has her feeling like she’s fresh out of school again – and with the fluttering butterflies to match.

At first, she chalked it up to the misfortune that he was her very first client at this new location. But that same day, she had three other patients scheduled after his appointment, and each one couldn’t have gone more smoothly than the last.

Her adjustments on the exam table had remained professional and brief, completely absent of that strange, intoxicating energy that had entranced her while Ben Solo melted beneath her fingers.

Rey blinks to clear her mind of this image before she can dwell on it for too long. _Pull yourself together, Sanders._ Her eyes glance to the clock for the tenth time in two minutes. It’s still only five minutes to 8.

There is a sudden pounding at the front door. Rey leaps up, heart pounding, and runs a hand over her face. She will not devolve into a flustered teenager with him today. She won’t.

“Mr. Solo,” she says, smiling, as she opens the door.

Solo is leaning awkwardly on his crutches, clearly not having absorbed any of her advice from Tuesday. “It’s Ben.”

He is wearing another sweatshirt that is much too small for him, hood pulled tight over his dark hair, and she can’t make out his expression behind the almost comically large sunglasses. _Works at the big studios, indeed,_ Rey thinks to herself with a private smile. “Ben.”

He shuffles past her, and Rey closes the door to the noise of the highway above them, enveloping them in sudden silence.

“They’re coming next week to repair the automatic door,” she says apologetically as she helps him wrestle out of his hoodie again. He doesn’t try to stop her this time.

Once they’ve freed him from the grip of the sweater, Solo reaches up to take off his sunglasses. They look like a children’s toy in his hand, which she suddenly realizes is very large.

“It's quite daring of you, Ms. Sanders,” he says softly, looking down at her with that inscrutable expression. “They could shut down your practice for that, you know. Running a healthcare facility without an accessible entrance. It would just take a phone call.”

Rey feels as though she’s been punched in the stomach. She stares up at him with wide eyes, her mouth falling open. “Oh, god, I – I’m very sorry, Mr. Solo, I know it’s completely unacceptable – we’ve only just moved in last week – if you want to come back after they’ve fixed the door, I would completely –“

“No, wait, no,” Solo speaks over her, with something like panic flashing across his face. “It was a joke.” One of his hands brushes her shoulder and he nearly loses balance on his crutches. “Just a joke.”

Adrenaline still coursing through her, Rey forces herself to take a deep breath. She feels her face settle into a frown of disbelief. “A joke.”

Solo just stares at her, a muscle twitching his jaw. She waits for him to respond, but he only keeps staring.

Mouth thinning into a hard line, Rey turns away. “You might want to work on your sense of humor, Mr. Solo.”

As she begins to head down the hall, her heart still pounding, she hears his deep voice call after her, contrite, “A bad joke, then. Please.” And then, more softly, “You can just call me Ben.”

Something about his tone strikes her, and she decides to take pity on him. “I’ll call you whatever you want,” Rey says over her shoulder, giving her best attempt at a shaky smile. “Just practice your stand-up at home next time. And don’t quit your day job. You wouldn’t make it very far as a comedian, Ben Solo.”

_What a strange man._

xx

Ben could not feel like any more of an idiot as he follows Sanders into her office. How many times had he thought about seeing her again over the past two days? How many pathetic hours had he spent rehearsing these moments over and over in his head?

 _I am Kylo Ren,_ he thinks to himself. It usually bolsters his confidence. But perhaps, this time, it is the problem.

“Nuh-uh, not today,” Sanders chastises him as he moves to take a seat at her desk.

She jerks her head toward the adjoining room, and a mischievous smile plays across her lips.

“We’re going to put you to work today, Ben Solo.”

Ben’s throat suddenly feels a little dry. He hadn’t been prepared to launch directly into another hour under Rey Sanders’ small hands, kneading him into a puddle.

To his relief – which soon morphs into dread – he learns very quickly that today’s session isn’t going to be nearly as pleasant.

For the next half hour, Ben Solo allows himself to be admonished and picked apart by a woman half his size as she tries to untangle his past two weeks of botched experience with the hell-sticks she calls crutches.

First, he learns with great displeasure that he has had the handgrips set to the wrong height this entire time. When he attempts to argue with her, she fixes him with a look so stern that Ben can’t for the life of him dredge up even an ounce of the authority that has made him such an effective villain.

But it doesn’t stop there. He is doing everything wrong. His hands aren’t positioned properly. He’s leaning too much on the pads, and then not enough. He’s hopping instead of sliding.

He longs for the blissful days where he believed his misery was due to the despicable crutches themselves, and not his sheer inability to handle them.

“You’re leaning too far forward again,” Sanders tells him. She’s sitting on the table, legs swinging, watching him intently.

Ben lets out a strangled noise of frustration – quite different from the sounds he was making two days ago. He hears her sigh and then she hops off the table, walking over to him.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she says softly, adjusting it under his arm for the eleventh time. “This is difficult stuff.”

He considers telling her that he once scaled a five-story building and then leapt into a moving helicopter with a dummy around his shoulders. “I’ve done too much training in my life to be defeated by a pair of crutches,” he says instead.

She laughs, a light and happy sound, and Ben feels all his irritation drain out of him. “I’ve got faith in you, Ben Solo,” she tells him, a smile still in her eyes. “You seem like a fighter to me.”

Ben feels himself preen under the compliment. _You have no idea, sweetheart._

Suddenly, Sanders is standing very close in front of him, her hands coming under his arms to rest on the pads of the crutches. “Let’s try something different,” she murmurs, eyes gazing up at him. “Pay close attention. Feel the space between your arms and the pads, where my hands are. Do you feel it?”

Ben swallows tightly. The only space he currently feels is the lack of it between him with his too-large body and _her_ , standing before him like a small beacon of light, full of everything good that Ben has never been allowed to have in this world.

Rey’s lips twist up in a little smile, and Ben swears there’s that same twinkle of mischief in her eye. “Are you paying attention, Ben Solo?”

His ears are definitely bright red now. They may quite literally be on fire. “The space. Between you and me. And your hands.”

She laughs again, stepping away, and Ben’s not sure if he’s grateful for the way this clears his head or if he mourns the loss of her.

“You need a teacher,” she says, not unkindly. “Now try one more time, and pretend my hands are still there. Lift yourself with your arms, not with the pads.”

For the first time since he picked up the wretched things, Ben finds himself walking easily on crutches.

xx

Rey doesn’t trust herself to put her hands on this man’s thick shoulders again, so when they have sufficiently celebrated Solo’s success with an awkward, two-handed high five that nearly topples him, she asks if they can finish the session with a few more questions at her desk. She’s not sure if she imagines the flash of disappointment on his face before he agrees.

As she’s booting up her laptop, however, she’s definitely not imagining the weight of his eyes on her, watching silently as she pulls up her schedule.

“I’m not very good at talking to people,” he says suddenly.

Blinking, Rey finally lets herself look back at him. He looks as surprised by the confession as she is.

“I don’t think anybody really is,” Rey says at last, when it’s clear he’s not going to continue. “We’re all just walking around, pretending.”

“No.” Solo is still staring at her. “You’re very good at it. I’ll bet you’re good at everything you do.”

Rey should be unnerved by his forthrightness, but instead she feels her cheeks turning pink again. “You would be wrong,” she says, smiling to herself as she turns back to her computer. “I’m total rubbish at beer pong.”

Solo laughs at that. It’s a genuine, boyish sound that seems to travel all the way to her toes. Rey realizes two things at once: it’s the first time she’s ever heard him laugh, and that she wants to hear him do it again.

“That’s what I mean,” he goes on, his voice thoughtful. “I’ve never even had the opportunity to find out if I’m good at something like that.”

Rey frowns. “At beer pong?”

“Yes. No. Talking to people – I don’t have many opportunities to do that, either." He pauses, continuing to examine her. "Not like this.”

All at once, she realizes that he is referring to the uncomfortable way they started their session – that perhaps this is his way of apologizing for it – and she can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand, overwhelmed with the need to reassure him. He blinks at her.

“Well, maybe we can practice that too," she says.

Solo’s mouth quirks up in a smile, and a frisson of energy passes between them. “I would like that.”

Rey gives his hand a friendly squeeze and beams at him. “Who knows? With my help, a life on the big stage could be in the cards for you after all," she says teasingly. "Never stop dreaming, Ben Solo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Ben and Rey will start getting to know each other a little better ;) Thank you for reading, and please know that I spent every non-writing moment today rolling around with happiness in your comments. So if you are enjoying, please don't hesitate to let me know. It really means a lot!


	3. Chapter 3

Finn slams his credit card dramatically on the bar top, rattling a few empty glasses. “We’re going to run a tab tonight, Maz,” he announces as he and Rey settle atop their stools.

The tiny woman gives them an incredulous look from behind her round glasses as she takes the card from the bar. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’re celebrating, of course,” Finn tells her, grinning. “An entire week of business at Jakku Rehabilitation. We’re making big moves, Maz!”

Maz’s wrinkled face lights up in a smile and she shakes her head, marveling at them. She pulls out three shot glasses, produces a bottle of whiskey and fills them all to the brim. “In that case, these first two are on the house,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Congratulations, my little scavengers.”

It’s an endearment that has its origins when the two first began showing up at Maz’s diner four years ago, dirt broke from school and hoping to wash dishes in exchange for some cheap dinner. When they both eventually left for better-paying jobs at Luke’s healing center – Rey teaching yoga, Finn as a fitness trainer – Maz never begrudged them for it. A hot plate of food has always been ready for them whenever they come to visit.

After a clink of their glasses, they all throw back the whiskey. Rey feels her chest glow warmly with a mixture of happiness and alcohol as it makes its way down her esophagus.

It wasn’t so long ago that she could never imagine feeling such a sense of belonging with other people. In this tiny corner of a dingy neighborhood on the outskirts of Los Angeles, Rey has finally found a family.

The bar at the diner is nearly empty, so Maz stays with them for a few minutes to pepper them with questions about their first week.

“Luke insisted that I bring my existing clients with me to this new location,” Rey says, after Maz pries the day-by-day synopsis from her. “I think he’s still referring people to me, too – I’ve had at least four new patients since Monday, and I haven’t even finished unpacking. It’s been quite a week.”

“And what do you do over there?” Maz asks, turning to Finn, who has been listening with interest. “Water all of Rey’s plants?”

Finn laughs, waving her off. “I’m still teaching the fitness classes over at Luke’s,” he says. “Rey’s the only one there most of the time. I take my appointments on Thursdays.”

Rey feels her heart surge with familiar affection for her best friend. Finn insisted on paying half the rent on the building, even when he gives Rey free rein for most of the week. They both know that he is mostly involved in this endeavor to help Rey get her feet off the ground with her new practice.

“I see.” Maz’s eyes are twinkling again. “My little scavengers, all grown up. Do you both remember when –”

Her voice is suddenly drowned out by the television at the end of the bar. Maz’s longtime busboy, Chewie, is standing there with the remote and his thumb on the volume button, ogling up at the screen.

“– going to learn tonight why you should never mess with America’s most terrifying villain. A photographer outside First Order Studios yesterday was verbally threatened in an altercation with notorious Kylo Ren actor –“

“Oh, turn that shit off, will you?” Maz snaps, grabbing the remote from her bus boy and abruptly changing the channel. “I can’t stand hearing about the temper tantrums that man throws.”

Rey rolls her eye and mentally checks out of the conversation, reaching over the bar to pour herself another shot.

“I don’t know, I think he’s kind of sexy,” Finn says out of the corner of his mouth, and then yelps when Maz swats at him, nearly knocking the beer out of his hand.

“I knew that boy when he was still in diapers, I’ll have you know,” Maz scolds him, wagging a gnarled finger. “Don’t speak about him that way.”

Finn’s eyes go wide as she stalks away to grab an order from the kitchen, the doors swinging behind her little frame. “Did she just say that she knows Kylo Ren? And that he used to wear _diapers_?”

“We live in Los Angeles, Finn,” Rey says, grabbing a napkin to wipe his sloshed beer off the counter. “Everyone knows someone here. And I have no idea who Kylo Ren is, but I’m sure he had a mother who wiped his bum and changed his nappy just like everyone else.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Finn looks at her like she’s grown another head. “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t seen any of the Kylo Ren movies?”

“You’re missing the point,” Rey says, exasperated. “They’re just humans, Finn. Awful humans, if my experience is anything to go by. But humans all the same.”

Just then, Maz emerges from the kitchen and slams two steaming plates of food in front of them – fish and chips for Rey, a double bacon cheeseburger for Finn.

“What kind of celebration would this be without your favorites?”

It’s not exactly the hippest place for a few young twenty-somethings to spend a Friday night, but Rey can’t imagine anywhere else she’d rather be.

xx

A few drinks later, Rey is feeling flushed with alcohol and happier than she’s been since Ben Solo arrived at her office this morning. And speaking of Ben Solo… As Rey watches Finn finish his burger – she always finishes her food before him – she finds her mind wandering to her new favorite subject.

“Finn,” Rey begins, as casually as she can manage when she’s four beers deep. “Have you ever had any… you know, _inappropriate_ experiences with a client?”

Finn frowns at her and swallows a bite of his burger. “What do you mean by inappropriate?”

“Oh, you know,” Rey says, waving a hand. She leans sideways on the counter for extra nonchalant-ness. “Like a client who maybe… comes on to you a little?”

He freezes mid-chew. “What are you trying to say, Peanut?” There is a dangerous edge to his voice, and he drops his burger back on the plate. “Is someone making you feel unsafe? Because I swear I will hide in the closet with a fucking baseball bat if –“

Rey can’t help herself; she starts laughing. “No, no, _god_ no.” Her sessions with Ben Solo have certainly been… well… _eccentric_ , to say the least. And he is certainly a large man. _Very large_ , her brain helpfully supplies, along with the vivid memory of his huge shoulders, his back, his hands…

But any hint of intimidation disintegrates as soon as he opens his mouth around her. She can’t imagine Ben Solo frightening a fly on the wall, never mind someone like Rey, who grew up fighting for scraps of food in one of London’s toughest neighborhoods.

“He’s not scary at all,” Rey reassures him quickly, since Finn still looks a little too ready to murder her favorite patient. “The opposite of scary. What’s the least scary thing you can think of? Because that’s him. Like – like a teddy bear.” Solo’s eyes suddenly flash before her mind’s eye, dark and bottomless and full of something she can’t quite place, and Rey bites her lip. “Okay… Maybe not a teddy bear. But he’s completely harmless. Like… a big, emo baby. A very good-looking baby.”

Finn’s mouth drops open, and he leans toward her, shoving his plate away in the process. “Rey Sanders,” he says, his voice a hushed mixture of scandal and excitement. “You have a crush.”

“What?!” Rey turns away from him, searching for her drink. “I absolutely do not.”

“You’re blushing,” Finn points out.

“I am not,” she says, and takes a swig of beer. “I’m completely wasted.”

“Yes, but you’re also blushing,” Finn says, grinning. “And you’ve got a crush. On a patient.”

Rey groans and buries her face in her hands. “I am so unethical.”

“It happens all the time, Peanut." Finn rubs a hand against her back. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“But why does he have to be a _patient?_ ” Rey moans into her fingers.

“I could always take over your sessions if you’d like,” Finn says innocently, and Rey bats him away.

“Like hell.” She fixes him with a knowing look. “I know exactly how that would end up.”

“Hey!” Finn presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m only trying to help you out.” He winks at her. “Seriously, though. It wouldn’t be an ethics issue if he wasn’t your patient anymore.”

Rey shakes her head and begins to pick at the abandoned chips on Finn’s plate. “You’re assuming he would even want to see me again after his therapy is over,” she mumbles.

“Of course he would want to see you,” Finn says, and nudges at her chin with his knuckles. “You’re a million dollar catch, Rey. And if this… sad, emo baby of yours doesn’t see that, I’ll be busting out the baseball bat for a completely different reason.”

Rey laughs heartily, and Finn laughs with her, mussing up her hair. He takes one last bite of his half-eaten burger and pushes the plate away from him.

“Now let’s get your wasted ass home.” He hops off the stool and stretches with more grace than Rey can manage after four beers. “And next movie night, we’re definitely binging the Knights of Ren, you little hermit.”

xx

On a dark street in the Los Angeles suburbs, a small man peers through a pair of tiny binoculars from behind a tinted car window.

It is nearly midnight when the headlights of a yellow cab finally cut through the darkness. His eyes never leaving the vehicle, the man slowly replaces the binoculars with a professional camera, bearing a heavy lens.

As the taxi rolls to a stop in front of an aging apartment building, he turns the lens until he has a crystal clear view of the face of the young woman who gets out. Ms. Rey Sanders, 24, is alone tonight, and clearly has had a bit too much to drink.

As Rey Sanders stumbles up the front stoop and unlocks the door, the camera clicks softly and rapidly in the silent car.

xx

Ben takes a deep breath, his foot bouncing up and down next to the gas pedal. He’s been sitting in her parking lot for the past 15 minutes, and he is still going to be embarrassingly early if he goes inside right now.

Besides, he’s not even sure if she’s arrived yet. It’s barely 7:45 in the morning, and there’s not even another car in the parking lot. He wracks his brain, trying to remember if he’d seen any other cars parked here during his last visits. It’s possible that she doesn’t drive, but in a city like Los Angeles, such a life would be almost unlivable.

He eyes the two coffees in the open box on his passenger seat, tucked into a small bag with handles. (Bags with handles have become Ben’s new best friend since he broke his leg.) The star-struck barista could hardly stop gaping at him long enough to swipe his credit card, but luckily Ben managed to find the spill-proof lids on his own.

The lids don’t contain the steam still rising from their edges, but Ben touches the smooth plastic mouthpiece, just to be sure they’re still hot. He thinks about Rey’s lips touching this very spot as she takes a sip, her delicate throat moving as she swallows.

The car is suddenly too warm for him to stay here any longer.

 _Fuck it_ , Ben thinks, closes the box with the coffee cups, and opens the driver’s side door.

Just as he’s reaching back to find his crutches, the front door to the building bursts open. His urgency forgotten, Ben straightens up in his seat to get a better look. Rey Sanders is crouching in front of the entrance to her office, muttering under her breath. But her back is turned, blocking his view.

Heart beating a little faster, Ben swings his leaden leg out the car and hoists himself up on his crutches. Wrapping the bag’s flimsy handles around his wrist, he makes his way over to her. He is used to approaching people silently; some small part of him likes to retain the element of surprise. But though he’s been handling his crutches with much greater ease, he is still only halfway across the parking lot when she glances up and sees him.

Her face completely lights up, and Ben forgets his reasons for waiting out in the car the past 15 minutes.

“Mr. Solo,” she says, and quickly corrects herself: “Ben.” He feels his heart do a small flip in his chest at the shy smile that follows.

“Happy Monday,” he blurts out, and then winces. He doesn’t think the words _Happy Monday_ have ever left his mouth before in his entire life.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “I see you’re no longer at risk of another terrible crutches-related accident.” The young woman bounces to her feet and looks him over appraisingly. “It seems you can be taught after all.”

“I’ve been practicing,” he says. “Lots of place to walk around, you know, at my house. Where I live.” Ben snaps his mouth shut. What the hell is it about this woman that he completely loses the ability to form intelligent thoughts while speaking to her?

“I’ll bet.” Rey looks at him with amusement, and then her eyes fall on the bag he’s got clutched around his right wrist. “Oh! Let me help you with that.”

She is at his side in an instant, gently unwrapping the handle from his wrist, which has started to turn a little red while he stands there like a buffoon.

“Coffee,” he says, when she has disentangled it from him. “I hope you like a little cream in yours.”

She looks surprised, and then unexpectedly joyful, as though he had done more than bring her a cup of (freshly roasted, very high quality) coffee. “I love a little cream,” she replies, and then that delightful rosy flush that has so fascinated Ben’s subconscious all weekend begins to spread across her freckled cheeks. “In my coffee, that is.”

“In your coffee,” Ben says quickly. “Of course.” He’s suddenly very grateful for the crutches. “What were you doing with the door?”

A look of consternation furrows her little brow, then, and she turns her head to frown at the door in question. “This damn door. I’ve been tinkering with it all weekend. I’m almost positive I’ve figured out what’s wrong – there’s a wire in the hinge here that just isn’t working the way it’s supposed to…”

With that, she is crouched over by the entrance again. Ben can see that the door’s been propped up with a cinderblock, likely a native to the shadowy area under the overpass. “Could you find no competent technician to replace it?”

Her cheeks grow even more flushed, but Ben senses that this time, it is from embarrassment.

“I’ve pulled off greater repairs than this silly door,” Sanders says, not looking at him for a few long moments. “I asked around and got a few quotes that were,” a bitter laugh, “quite outside my budget. So I’m taking care of it myself.”

Ben feels his fists clench. “Do you not have a landlord?”

“Section 22 of my lease says it’s my responsibility, apparently,” she mutters. “Not that I read it very carefully before signing.”

His stomach twists with something sour –

( _he’s 20 years old and sitting at a long, polished table, a pile of papers before him and his nerves like cotton in his mouth_ )

– and Ben grits his teeth. He is no stranger to being tricked into ridiculous legalities in the fine print of a contract.

“No matter. I’ll figure it out.” She hops up again, and pushes the cinderblock out of the way. Propping the door open with her hip, she gives him a cheeky grin. “So what were you saying about coffee?”

They sit in her sunlit corner office together, sipping from their steaming cups. This is more comfortable, somehow, than their charged encounters in room next door. Ben is very pleased to see that she notices the quality of the roast – she clearly has a taste for it.

“Mmmm. It’s got a sort of…” She takes a long sip, and her eyes flit to the ceiling, searching. “Like a chocolate flavor, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” Ben says, feeling himself smile. “This is my favorite roast.”

“Where is this from?”

“Giodonna’s,” he says, and when met with her blank expression, adds, “on Montana Avenue.”

Her eyes go very wide with surprise. “Isn’t that in Santa Monica?”

Ben curses himself silently. “Uh. Yes.”

“Wow.” She gives him an odd look. “You live in a very nice neighborhood, Ben Solo.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he says quickly. “You’ve got the paparazzi scurrying around like roaches, and the swarms of people, desperate to catch a glimpse of the residents.”

“And the sleazy one percent emerging from their mansions to look down their noses at it all,” Sanders adds causticly, and Ben feels a pit in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he says. “That too.”

“I used to wash dishes at a diner near there when I was in college,” Rey goes on, oblivious to his discomfort. “It was insufferable. They would walk in sometimes, take one look around, and say the most horrible things, right in front of the owner.” She smiles around her coffee cup conspiratorially. “I think when a person has a certain amount of money, it eats up their soul.”

Ben takes a long sip of his coffee and doesn't respond.

“Oh – while I have you here, we might as well go over my schedule,” she says suddenly, and goes over to her desk. Ben thanks whatever deity would occupy itself with an asshole like him for the change in subject.

She returns to sit cross-legged beside him and opens her computer in her lap. Before she has a chance to pull up her calendar, Ben is able to catch a glimpse of her desktop background: a photograph of Rey and a dark-skinned young man her age, arms slung around each other, giving a big thumbs up in the middle of Times Square. Jealousy hits him unexpectedly like a sack of bricks.

“Your prescription starts with three times a week,” Sanders is saying, unaware of how stiff he has suddenly gone beside her. “I have a four o’clock slot available on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It’s my last appointment of the day, so I can spend a little extra time with you, if need be.”

She gives him another one of those shy smiles, and Ben swallows, her desktop background forgotten.

“My schedule is very busy these days,” he says. “But I think I can fit that somewhere between walking around my house and gawking at the very rich neighbors.”

Thankfully, she seems to understand that he is joking this time. He finds that her laughter somehow makes him feel like he is laughing too. It’s the strangest thing.

“Four o’clock, then,” she says, and begins typing on her keyboard. “Eight weeks will put us… straight through to the week before Christmas.”

All of Ben’s happiness suddenly vanishes, replaced with a dark cloud of dread. “About that.” He clears his throat as she looks at him curiously. “It can’t be eight weeks.”

She frowns. “But your prescription –“

“I know what it says.” Ben rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers, temping down a flare of frustration. “It needs to be sooner than that. They need me back at work by the beginning of December.”

Her mouth falls open in sudden and unexpected outrage. “I thought you said you have a lawyer.”

Ben frowns at her, perplexed. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

 _”Worker’s comp!”_ She rises from her seat as though to make for the business card of that two-bit shark again, and before he can reconsider, Ben reaches out and grabs her hand to stop her.

“This is bigger than worker’s comp,” he says softly. “There’s nothing else I can do. Five weeks, and then I need to be fit to return to work.”

Rey’s mouth works silently for a few long moments, as though deciding what to say. Finally, she sighs. Her eyes flit downward, and Ben realizes that he is still holding her hand. He doesn’t let go. “You’re very demanding, Mr. Solo.”

Ben can’t resist his smirk. “It’s part of my charm.”

Rey Sanders actually snorts at that, before her free hand flies up to cover her mouth with scandalized amusement. _How is this woman so fucking adorable?_ “I'm not sure that demanding things qualifies as charm.”

“Maybe not.” Ben rises to his feet, unfolding to his full height above her. He doesn’t miss the way her breath catches as she looks up at him. It makes something warm and possessive curl deep within his belly. “But I’m not afraid to take what I want.”

Slowly, Rey’s hand falls away from her face. A small, pink tongue darts out to wet her lips. Ben can’t look away from her freckles, her eyelashes. Her mouth. “Then take it.”

The garish rendition of some obnoxious theme song blasts through the room with the equivalent force and surprise of a nuclear bomb, and Ben nearly jumps out of his skin. Rey curses, falling backward, and digs a smartphone with a shattered screen from her back pocket. She laughs, a high, nervous sound as she silences it.

“My alarm,” she says apologetically, not meeting his eyes. “For your appointment.”

Ben clears his throat. What the fuck is that matter with him? He nearly just assaulted his beautiful physical therapist in her office. She must think he’s some kind of lunatic.

“At least we’re awake now,” Sanders says, her voice a little too high, and it takes Ben a moment to realize she’s talking about the coffee.

She busies herself at her desk while Ben arranges his crutches under his arms, and then does it again, the way she taught him. He’s almost made it to the other room when her voice stops him.

“I don’t back down from a challenge, Solo.” She’s still looking at her computer, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “Feel free to be as demanding as you want. You’ll find there’s not a lot that I can’t do.”

She looks up at him, and there’s something about his name in her mouth that is doing things to Ben’s head. “Five weeks, then," he says, and his voice sounds rougher than he's used to.

“It’ll be the most demanding five weeks of your life,” Rey replies smartly.

Ben can’t stop the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. _You have no idea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send help. I can't stop writing this story. I haven't left my house in three days. No food. No water. Only Reylo.
> 
> Seriously though - I hope I'm not overwhelming you guys with the updates! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has left kudos and bookmarked this story, and especially those who have left their words of encouragement in the comments! It means so much to know you're enjoying this!


	4. Chapter 4

A fresh bead of sweat rolls down his temple. The soft rhythm of the rowing machine is soothing to him: the whir of the water spinning rapidly in the tank, the zip of the cord as he pulls backward, the sweet burn in his muscles as they ripple with the weight of his body. Ben’s eyes narrow with singular focus, but he stares straight ahead, unseeing. Only feeling.

Alone with his weights and his rower, Ben can almost forget about his leg. It rests, useless and itchy, on the wooden floor beside the machine. It’s one of the many adjustments Ben has had to make to one-legged life. But he would rather break both his legs than give up his cardio routine.

Ben loves working out. More than acting, even. It’s the one activity in which he can truly lose himself. There is only him and his sheer force of will. There are no spotlights, no microphones, no director shouting out to break the flow he’s been building. No Snoke.

As if the bastard can sense Ben’s thoughts, his phone begins to buzz across the room, making a violent shuddering noise against the wood table. Cursing, Ben pauses the Chopin that has been fueling this last half hour of self-punishment and grabs his crutches.

But the name lighting up his phone is not who he expects.

“Mr. Solo,” comes Mitaka’s soft voice through the speakerphone. “I’m calling about the quote you requested.”

“It doesn't matter.” Ben wipes the sweat from his brow with a hand towel and sits down on a stool. “Whatever it is, I'll pay for it.”

Mitaka continues as though Ben hasn’t spoken. “A full replacement starts around $3,500, though there may be additional fees if -“

“I’ll pay for it,” Ben repeats, gritting his teeth. “Is that all?”

“No, sir.” Mitaka sounds hesitant, which is never a good sign. “I just got off the phone with Hux. Your presence has been requested tomorrow at 3 o’clock for a meeting with -”

“No.” Ben’s voice is firm. Tomorrow is Wednesday. “I'm not available.”

“Mr. Solo, Hux was quite insistent that he wanted -“

“I don't give a shit what Hux wants,” Ben snaps, voice full of venom. “I don't pay you to tell me what Hux wants. I pay you to tell Hux to go fuck himself.”

The distinct sound of a sigh comes over the speaker. “If you are unable to attend, sir, it may be better for you to report this to Mr. Snoke directly.”

Ben exhales. “You didn't say the meeting was with Snoke.”

“I was trying to, sir,” Mitaka says, not unkindly. “You keep interrupting me.”

“Fine. Fine, you can tell them that I'll be there.”

The call ends. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben’s punching bag swings gently from side to side, as though taunting him with his favorite way to take out his frustrations.

The crutches, unfortunately, make it impossible to throw a punch at anything. Ben would know. He has tried.

His fitness room is probably his favorite space in his sprawling penthouse. Since the injury, it is also the place Ben has spent the majority of his time. There is not much else for him to do these days, and working out makes him feel productive – like the intensity of his exercise will rid him more quickly of this damn cast.

It is peaceful here, away from the prying eyes of the public. Like most of the apartment, its floor-to-ceiling windows offer an arresting view of the beach and boardwalk below – and beyond that, the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

Ben catches sight of his reflection as he gazes out at the sea. He abandoned his shirt a few minutes into his workout, and his pale chest is still flushed with exertion. A fine sheen of sweat covers his skin. He badly needs a shower.

Mid-morning light has begun to fill the room, and Ben wonders what Rey Sanders is doing right now.

He will have to tell her that he won’t be able to make their session tomorrow. The thought makes his stomach turn. It’s not normal, how much he finds himself thinking about her. He’s only known this girl for little more than a week, and he is completely enraptured.

Perhaps it is only natural. She is one of the few people with whom he has had regular contact since filming was put on hold. Not to mention that she is the only person in god knows how long who isn’t either completely repulsed by him or throwing themselves at his feet.

Ben can only handle desperation in small doses. Unless, of course, he’s purposefully eliciting it.

He decides right then he would very much enjoy eliciting some desperation out of Rey Sanders.

Mouth suddenly very dry, Ben shakes his head. He needs to pull himself together or he’s going to be taking a much colder shower than he planned.

Before he can change his mind, Ben picks up his phone and scrolls through his most recent calls. There it is: Last Monday, at 1:33 p.m.

The phone rings five times. Ben’s heart climbs higher in his throat with each ring. And then:

“You’ve reached Rey Sanders,” her cheerful voice floats through his earpiece. “Leave a message with your name and number and I’ll return your –“

Ben hangs up, his heart pounding. He does not leave a message.

* * *

Several minutes later, the shower is running and the mirror is beginning to steam. Ben is halfway finished sealing a plastic cover around his cast when his phone vibrates on the counter. Agitated, he wonders what Mitaka could possibly want now.

It’s not Mitaka.

> _**1-213-989-3440:** who is this?_
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** you didn’t leave a message_

Ben feels something like butterflies in his chest.

> _**Ben:** It’s Ben Solo._
> 
> _**Ben:** From the appointment yesterday._
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** lol I know who you are_
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** im finishing up with a patient_
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** everything okay? _

He finds he doesn’t like thinking about her with other patients.

> _**Ben:** I won’t be able to come to our session tomorrow._
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** aww too much for you already? _
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** we didn’t even get to the hard stuff yet _
> 
> _**Ben:** Last-minute work thing. I have somewhere to be at 3._
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** he’s married to his job, ladies and gents_

He feels his cheeks flush. The bathroom is starting to fill with steam.

> _**1-213-989-3440:** we could move you to 5 instead?_
> 
> _**Ben:** I thought I was your last appointment. _
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** i could make an exception_
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** you’ll just have to make it up to me_

Ben’s heart skips a beat, but before he can reply, she continues:

> _**1-213-989-3440:** with a killer yelp review_
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** plz don’t mention the dying plant in the foyer_
> 
> _**1-213-989-3440:** he’s a refugee from the previous owner and we’re still nursing him back to life_
> 
> _**Ben:** 3/5. Minus two stars for plant torture. But I’ll give you three for the massages._

A full two minutes pass without a response, and he starts to panic. He wonders if he has fucked up.

When his phone vibrates again, he all but scrambles to unlock it.

> _**1-213-989-3440:** guess i’ll just have to bust out my five-star massage for you next time :)_

Ben ends up taking a very cold shower indeed.

* * *

“I thought you said something about this being _demanding_.”

Ben Solo’s long body is sprawled across her exam table. Rey is positioned at his feet, holding the bottom of his cast with one hand.

She gives him a stern look. “You know what’s demanding? Blood clots.” She nudges at the bottom of his foot. “Let’s go. Two more minutes.”

Solo gives a long-suffering sigh, lifts his left leg from the table and holds it a few inches in the air.

“You need to keep your leg muscles strong so they don’t waste away while they’re in this cast,” she explains. “Knee straight.”

He gives her an incredulous look. “It’s a few weeks. How much could it waste away?”

“You’d be surprised. After a month in a cast, my lower leg was a mere shadow of its former self.”

Solo raises himself up on his elbows to look at her. “You’ve had a broken leg?”

Like a flood, the memories come crashing over her. Her tiny, 7-year-old body, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. The alcohol clinging to Unkar Plutt’s breath. His many chins waggling as he hovered over her, shouting obscenities.

“When I was a kid,” Rey says, hoping her voice doesn’t shake. She spreads her hand across his large chest and presses him gently back down to the exam table. “Did I say you could stop?”

“So forceful, Ms. Sanders.” But he must see the expression on her face, because he frowns. “How did it happen?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Rey says with false cheer. There is no way she’s going to share _that_ particular story with Mr. Mysterious over here, who still hasn’t told her a single concrete fact about himself.

“Fair enough.” He lifts his leg back up again. When he doesn’t speak again, she leaps on the chance to change the subject.

“So were you planning on mentioning anything about my new door?”

Solo looks up at her innocently. “New door?”

When Rey arrived at the office this morning, a large truck had been parked right out front. The repairman explained she just needed to unlock the building so they could begin the installation. Upon further questioning, she learned he was there to completely replace her busted automatic entrance.

 _I can’t possibly afford this,_ Rey began to say, but the man interrupted her.

 _It’s all been paid for already,_ he said. _By Ben Solo himself. You’re a very lucky girl, miss._

Rey crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You know. The door that you paid for them to come install this morning.”

“Oh,” Solo says, as though he is suddenly remembering. “ _That_ door.” He flashes her a cheeky smile. “Family friend took care of it for me. Thought you could use the help.”

Rey is not sure what kind of family friend refers to another friend as _Ben Solo himself_ , but she is feeling too shocked with gratitude to argue.

“Why?”

He finishes another leg lift, but his gaze is still fixed on her. “I wanted to.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is soft. There must be something in her tone, because he sits up quickly, without using his arms – Rey can’t help but marvel briefly at his core strength – and suddenly his face is right in front of her.

“I know.”

His eyes are dark and unreadable, and Rey feels a sensation like falling. “People don’t do things like that for me,” she finds herself saying. “I can take care of myself. I’ve never needed anyone’s help.”

“There is no shame in needing things,” he murmurs.

Rey’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. She suddenly feels very daring. “Perhaps I can repay you.”

She crouches down then, pushing up the loose fabric of his running pants above his cast. A thrill goes through her at the way his eyes go very wide – and then very dark.

“What are you doing?” he says hoarsely.

“I believe I owe you that five-star massage,” she replies, smirking.

She feels his entire body go stiff at the first contact of her fingers, smoothing gently around the skin at the top of his cast. In small motions, she begins squeezing the muscle up the front of his leg, over his knee, and back down again.

“Sanders, you don’t need to –” he begins, but falters at her smile.

“I know.”

He watches her, eyes large and full of awe, as she begins massaging the muscle above his cast. Her fingertips catch on the soft, wiry hair that covers his leg. It makes something in her throat tighten.

“Massage therapy is very important to retain circulation,” she hears herself saying, her voice more even-keeled than she feels. “It stimulates the flow of blood to move through areas where your muscles aren’t contracting.”

“Hnnnghh,” Solo replies.

Rey can’t help but smile. “Good?” she asks, looking up at him through her lashes.

She meets his gaze again and feels nearly paralyzed by the intensity of it. “Yes.”

She knows this is wildly inappropriate, practically kneeling on the floor to give a patient a massage, but she can't bring herself to care. There is something deep inside her that revels in being beneath him like this, watching him stare down at her as her hands coax pleasure from his skin.

“I’m only doing this if you promise to keep up with the exercises I showed you today,” she murmurs. Her fingers slip above his knee again and she feels goosebumps raise on his skin. “Toe curls, leg lifts, isometric movements. No matter how boring they may seem.”

“Yes,” Solo says again. The way he's looking down at her, Rey feels as though he is holding himself back from some unspoken urge that is passing between them like electricity. Her stomach flutters.

“Put your legs back on the table and turn on your stomach.” Rey rises to stand in front of him. There are a few, heart-pounding moments where they're at eye-level again, and she's afraid he is going to act on whatever dark impulse is lurking behind his eyes. But instead, he gives her a last, inscrutable look and follows her directions.

She tries not to let her gaze linger too long on the bulk of his shoulders, down the curve of his spine, down to... Rey swallows hard. She rolls up his pant leg again, so that the back of his pale thigh is peeking out.

“I’m just going to work on the back of your leg now.”

His skin is softer back here, with less hair. Her fingers begin pressing gentle motions on the creamy skin that stretches across the back of his knee, and he lets out a soft hum, low and pleased.

His voice is so deep, she wonders if she’s imagining its vibration in her fingertips. She wonders what it would feel like vibrating through her whole body, pressed flush against his own.

Rey breathes in sharply. Where did _that_ thought come from? This was getting to be beyond inappropriate. She should stop this before the tension in the room snaps and one of them finally gives into this strange and intoxicating pull, growing stronger with each moment they spend together. Before Rey does something that makes her lose her license.

Instead, she flattens her palms against the back of his thigh - built like a tree trunk - and gets to work.

* * *

Ben thinks he is going to die.

Perhaps this was Snoke’s plan all along. He orchestrated that stunt so Ben would break his leg, then sent him to an orthopedist that would guide him here, into the hands of the woman that would kill him.

And she is trying to kill him, of this Ben is certain. The feeling of her small fingers sliding up and down the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh is enough to stop his heart in his chest. He has to remind himself to keep breathing as her thumbs rotate small circles just above his knee, slowly climbing higher and higher up his leg.

By the time she is finished with him, an eternity later, his face is as flushed as it is after any of his most intense cardio routines. But this time, he hasn’t had to move a muscle. He’s just been lying here, melting, mouth open in soundless pleasure as Sanders takes him apart piece by piece.

She touches his shoulder, and slowly, he comes back to reality.

He makes the decision all at once. If she’s going to be the death of him, he might as well die happy for the first time in his life.

“Let me take you to dinner.” His voice is deeper than usual. He sits up, needing to see her face.

She looks – surprised. Alarmed. Not at all what he expected. “Excuse me?”

“Dinner.” Ben tilts his head, examining her. Her cheeks are rosy with the same drug that he’s got coursing through his veins. _She feels it too._ “Somewhere nice. Private.”

“Ben,” she says softly, and a shiver runs through him. It’s the first time she’s said his name without his prompting. “You’re my patient. We can’t.”

“Yes. We can.” He takes her hand, encouraged when she doesn’t resist. Slowly, he raises it to his mouth. “We can do whatever we want.” He breathes the words against the back of her hand. “Go wherever we want.” His plush bottom lip barely brushes over the rise of her knuckles, one by one. “Let me give it all to you, Rey.”

Dark eyelashes flutter against her cheek, and for a moment, she seems to sway on her feet.

Then her face shutters, and she pulls away.

“We can’t,” she repeats, and turns so she doesn’t have to look at him. “I’m sorry if I – gave you the wrong impression with any of this.” Her voice becomes cool, clinical. “It’s a very intimate relationship between a patient and a therapist, and it’s only natural at times to develop feelings that are –“

“Bullshit,” Ben snaps. The way she visibly winces at his tone is like a punch to his gut, and somehow, it just makes him angrier. “I knew from the moment I saw you, and you knew too.”

“We’ve hardly known each other a week, Mr. Solo,” she says hotly. “Don’t be so dramatic.” It’s like a bucket of freezing water. The worst part is, of course, that she’s right. What the fuck is the matter with him? He’s no stranger to beautiful women, especially in his line of work. What is it about Rey Sanders that has him so off-kilter?

And then she speaks again. “I could lose everything,” she says in a small voice. “Everything I’ve worked for. I could lose my license.”

 _Fuck your license,_ he wants to say. He wants to tell her that he’ll lay the entire world at her feet. That she’ll have whole houses made of windows, every room overflowing with ivy and flowers – and it could still never rival the life that seems to roll off of her in waves, lighting up everything she touches.

The exam table shifts, and suddenly she is sitting beside him. Ben notices that her legs dangle a few inches from the ground, while his feet are planted firmly on the floor. “We could be friends.” There is the brush of her hand on his shoulder, and Ben raises his head to see her peering up at him with so much hope it crushes him. “I like you, Ben. I think we could make great friends.”

“Friends.” He tries the word out in his mouth. “I don’t have many of those.”

She gives him a little smile. “We’ve all got to start somewhere, no?”

They sit there in silence for a few moments, her hip mere inches from his. Ben is wondering if she will still let him take her to dinner when she elbows him playfully in the ribs.

“Chin up, Solo.” Her smile has grown to light up her entire face. “I won’t be your physical therapist forever, you know.”

The sun is beginning to set when Ben goes out to his car. It’s nearly seven. The highway is awash in pinks and deep violets. Rolling down the window, Ben pulls out of the parking lot, and is startled when two teenagers begin pointing at him and waving wildly.

He realizes he’s forgotten his ridiculous sunglasses and hoodie today, his self-imposed uniform to shield himself from the world.

He finds he doesn’t mind so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so overwhelmed by all the love you've been showing this story! Thank you for all the kudos and the kind words. Your comments fill my heart with such happiness. 
> 
> Coming up soon: more text exchanges, and a chance encounter outside Rey's office. Things are about to start getting more intense now that they're acknowledging their feelings.
> 
> If you're enjoying, please feel free to let me know! The encouragement helps me write faster :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another text exchange, more poorly disguised flirting, and a risky invitation.

“Holy hell, if you stick me with that pin one more time –“

“Stop squirming and I won’t have to!”

Rey glares at her friend’s reflection in the full-length mirror as one of his pins get dangerously close to her nipple. “You owe me at least three chocolate milkshakes after this.”

“First place for Bloodbath’s Best Couple’s Costume isn’t good enough for you?” Finn plucks another pin from between his teeth and finishes fastening the dark fabric across her chest.

“There’s going to be a bloodbath in this apartment if you keep knicking me with those pins,” Rey mutters. “I feel like such a fraud, Finn. I’ve never even seen these rubbish movies.”

“And whose fault is that exactly?”

“I wouldn’t consider it a flaw that I’ve managed to avoid the most overrated, overworked film franchise of the past quarter century.” She sighs heavily. “Why can’t we go as Elisa and the Amphibian Man?”

Finn breaks his concentration to give her an incredulous look. “You mean the creepy fish sex movie? Creepy fish sex doesn’t win first place at Bloodbath’s Blood Bash. Knights of Ren does.”

Rey bristles. “The Shape of Water was a powerful commentary on tribalism and toxicity in contemporary politics. It was about the importance of love without transforming the other person into –“

“The chick had sex with a creepy fish monster,” Finn interrupts her with a tone of finality. “Fish sex does not belong at Bloodbath’s Blood Bash. Keep it in your browser history, Rey.”

She has to admit, the costume is coming together. All black, wispy fabric and leather, she looks like some kind of dark assassin.

“Whatever,” she mutters. “I get to pick next year.”

Finn stands up to hand her a pair of gloves. They’re black leather, butter-smooth, and as she pulls them on she finds they reach her elbows.

“Isn’t this a little too… sexy?” She frowns at her reflection, turning ungracefully from side to side so she can see the whole thing.

“You look like a vision, Peanut.” Finn stands back to admire his handiwork. “We just need to find you a staff and we’ll be good to go.”

He can’t stop grinning at her, and it makes Rey give him a begrudging smile of her own. “Let me see the pictures again.”

Finn hands her a stack of stills from the movies, printed in black and white – undoubtedly from Luke’s printer at the healing center. Frowning, she flips through them. There are a few stills of her character – Kira, Finn told her – along with the pilot whose costume Finn will wear.

Kira doesn’t seem to take any shit, Rey will give her that. The girl is often in motion, wielding a staff and baring her teeth at her attackers. Maybe Rey would enjoy these movies after all.

“Who is this?”

Her fingers hoover over the last picture. A large, masked man looms over her character, who is bound to a table. His gloved hand is outstretched, as though he is reaching out to touch her. A shivery feeling runs through her.

“Aw, come on, Rey. That’s Kylo Ren.” Finn is looking over her shoulder. “The bad guy. The star. Whatever you want to call him. In this scene, he ties up Kira to interrogate her.”

Rey bites her lip and grins. “Kinky.”

“Ewwwwww.” Finn snatches the pictures from her. “Definitely not kinky. Jesus, Rey, you’re into some weird shit.”

An hour later, Finn has gone home and Rey is onto her third glass of wine, still in her strange costume. The images from Finn’s silly movies are laid out on her counter, but Rey has a particular interest in the last one, featuring the large, masked man. There is something about the scene, something striking and uncomfortable and possibly arousing, that makes her stomach flutter.

Suddenly, she is struck with an idea. Putting down her wine, she rushes to her overflowing closet.

Rey has always had a hard time throwing things away. Her therapist says it’s likely a result of the instability that dominated her chaotic childhood. But for once, she’s grateful to be a hoarder.

In the back corner of her closet she finds the wooden staff Luke gifted her during their first meditation retreat, right after she started working at the healing center. She doesn’t think she’s practiced Bojutsu since then, but the staff is still there – probably right where she left it after she returned home.

Rey pulls it out and tries out a few experimental movements in front of the mirror. She finds that she likes how the sheer fabric, tied at her waist in a belt, swirls around her as she spins and cuts through the air with her staff.

Finn is going to have a cow, she thinks with a grin.

After a few tries, she manages to take a video of herself performing one of the only movements she remembers – a spinning kick and stab.

Her head is a little cloudy with wine as she grabs her phone. _For our first place entrance on Saturday,_ she taps out a text to Finn. And then, to make him uncomfortable, she adds: _Just find a Kylo Ren to take me home and we’ll call it even._

With a sloppy grin, Rey hits the send button.

* * *

Morning hits Rey like a freight train. She throws her arm over her eyes and groans. How much did she drink last night?

Rolling over, she gropes blindly for her water bottle on the nightstand. Once she’s managed a few sips, she rubs her bleary eyes open and squints at the clock.

It’s only nine. She doesn’t have to teach her first class until 11:30. With a sigh of relief, she swings her legs out of bed and glances around at the disaster that is her bedroom floor.

Her costume is strewn across the rug in pieces, clearly having been shed in increments as she made her way to bed. There is a half-empty glass of wine on the dresser. Glass number 4? She needs to stop drinking so much when Finn comes over.

Her eyes flick over to her nightstand – and then her heart skips a beat.

 

> _New text message from Ben Solo._

Why on earth would he be texting her, and so early in the morning? Chewing on her lip, Rey grabs her phone, unlocks it – and feels the bottom of her stomach drop out.

There, right after their dangerously flirtatious exchange on Tuesday, is a video. A video of Rey. In her ridiculous Halloween costume. She is going to _kill_ Finn.

 _For our first place entrance on Saturday,_ she had written. _Just find a Kylo Ren to take me home and we’ll call it even._ Followed by a kissy face.

A fucking kissy face.

And then she reads his response.

> **Ben Solo:** I don’t think Kylo Ren would give up his destiny to sleep with the enemy. No matter how pretty she is.

Heart pounding in her chest, Rey tries to process what she is reading. Does this mean he’s a fan of these movies? Should she start watching them so they have something to talk about? And – is he calling her pretty?

> **Rey:** shit, I’m so sorry. meant to send that to a friend. little too much to drink last night

The three dots on the bottom of the screen appear for what seems like an eternity before her phone buzzes in her hand.

> **Ben Solo:** It’s against the ancient code to drink as well, Ms. Sanders. You’d make a poor Jedi.
> 
> **Rey:** i actually don’t know anything about those movies. too mainstream for me. a friend is forcing me to dress up with him for a party
> 
> **Ben Solo:** You’re not missing much. They’re a poorly disguised attempt to capitalize off the success of the original trilogy.
> 
> **Rey:** that’s exactly what i’ve been telling finn for the past five years
> 
> **Ben Solo:** My father was a big fan. I’m a little more familiar with them than I’d like to be.

Rey doesn’t miss his use of the past tense. She reminds herself to ask him about that later.

> **Ben Solo:** Take it from a reluctant expert. Try putting your hair up. Your character wears it that way. Makes it easier to fight.
> 
> **Ben Solo:** And to see your lovely face.

Rey smiles like a loon the entire way to yoga class.

* * *

Their session on Friday starts off strangely subdued.

Solo is not in a good mood when he comes in. At first, Rey is concerned that she has done something to upset him. Did she inadvertently insult his favorite movie franchise? Should she not have mentioned Finn?

There must be something in her face that betrays her worry, because halfway through his leg lifts, he looks at her and his eyes soften.

“Another meeting with my boss this morning,” he explains tensely. “Never fails to ruin my day. He is… not a kind man.”

“My last boss could be tough sometimes, but he was always supportive.” Rey gives him a sympathetic look. “It feels good to finally be working for myself, though, even if it’s not always easy.”

His eyes flash with amusement, and his lips quirk upward. “You don’t seem like the kind to take the easy way out, Ms. Sanders.”

“I told you. I like a good challenge.” Rey smiles. “Why don’t we do some upper body stuff today? You look like you could use a change.”

Rey quickly learns that Solo does not need much guidance when it comes to upper-body workouts. For the first time, he is not wearing a long-sleeved shirt under his hoodie, and when he shrugs it off, Rey’s eyes go wide. His arms are _huge_.

Solo must catch her staring, because when she meets his gaze again, a smirk is playing across his lips. He folds his arms across his chest, which only serves to make the muscle more defined.

Rey wants to run her fingers over every part of his biceps, and then possibly her tongue.

“Let’s start with your core today. Since it doesn’t seem like you need much help with those.” This earns her a small puff of laughter, and Rey is relieved to feel Solo’s tension begin to ease out of the room.

They spend the next half hour doing ball exercises. Rey stands behind him in the full-length mirror as he perches on her largest pink exercise ball, doing slow kicks and marches. He is a surprisingly obedient student, silent, and always watching.

“You’re not quite there yet, but once you’re ready, you’ll be able to use this to start putting a little bit of weight on your left leg.”

When he finishes his last set of marches, Rey positions herself directly behind him. Usually, she needs to crouch to give direction for this exercise. But Solo is so tall that she simply needs to stand behind him to place her hands on his waist.

“We’re going to do some rotations now,” she says, hyper-aware of how close her lips are to the back of his neck.

Solo’s eyes bore into hers in the reflection of the mirror.

“We’re going to start with rotating your hips in a circular motion on the ball.” Gently, she digs her fingers into his hips and begins to guide them in small circles. “Keep your upper body as still as possible. With a broken leg, this is a better way to work out your core than traditional sit-ups. There’s less chance of you putting weight on your leg.”

Suddenly, his body stops moving. “I think I need a demonstration.”

Rey blinks. “Is something confusing you?”

“Maybe.” His mouth quirks. “Show me how it’s done.”

“All right.” It’s an odd request, but not the first time someone’s needed additional help with an exercise. Crossing the room, she grabs her own inflated ball and rolls it over.

It’s not until she’s sitting in front of him, hands on her thighs, that she realizes what a mistake this is.

This exercise has never felt sexual before. But as she begins to move her hips in a clockwise motion, the weight of Solo’s gaze heavy on her body, it feels downright filthy.

She begins slowly, deliberately, rocking her hips back and forth. Her thighs flex under her tight yoga pants, and she is aware of how she must look, what he must be thinking about. She doesn’t speak as she widens the rotations, until she is grinding slow, sweeping circles on the exercise ball.

It’s like a private dance. Rey’s eyes never leave his, her heart pounding ridiculously fast. Her face might be a little flushed, but she isn’t sure; she feels hot all over.

And Solo watches every movement. He is perfectly still, and if Rey were in her right mind, she might compliment him on his form.

She doesn’t. She is arrested, captivated by the intensity of his eyes, which are darker than she could have ever imagined possible. Like deep, bottomless pools that Rey wants to dive straight into and bathe naked in, opening up and letting this terrible, delicious energy swallow her whole.

And Solo looks like he would very much like to swallow her whole. He looks like he would enjoy nothing more,

Rey smiles slyly, her motions coming to a stop. She places her hands on her knees and leans forward slightly.

“Is that clear enough for you, Solo?”

His hands clench at his sides, and a returning smile flits across his lips. “Crystal.”

* * *

When the appointment is over, Sanders leads him to the front door in silence.

She walks in front of him, which gives Ben an opportunity to stare at her some more. He should feel some shame at how often he stares at her. He watched that ridiculous grainy video at least eight times before he stopped counting.

But no one has ever accused Ben Solo of being a saint.

The walk to the entrance is too short. Sanders turns to look at him, her expression imploring. She opens her mouth to speak –

And a sudden explosion of thunder makes them both jump.

It’s as if, with that thunderous crack, the sky opens up and unleashes a year’s worth of precipitation. Rain begins pouring down in heavy sheets, with such force that it’s difficult to see a few feet away from the building. Water droplets bounce violently off the pavement; already, small puddles are beginning to form.

“Oh, _fuck me,_ my _bike,”_ Sanders swears. Ben only gets a glimpse of the panic in her face before she has dashed out the door and vanished in the downpour.

What the fuck? Ben can’t remember the last time it rained in Los Angeles. And certainly not like _this._ He eyes his crutches, cursing his useless foot. He should be out there, getting her bike for her. What kind of person will she think he is? And since when does she ride a bike?

These questions are still swirling in Ben’s head when she bursts through the door again, this time with a bicycle that has certainly seen better days.

Sanders is soaked to the bone. This time, Ben makes an active effort not to stare at the way her dripping shirt clings to her breasts, her stomach. He supposes he does have some shame left in him after all.

“God damnit, I can’t let this thing rust anymore,” she’s saying as she throws open a closet in the hall. Still cursing, she begins wiping down the bike with a ratty towel.

“Do you not have a car?” Ben wonders aloud, and then curses himself for the embarrassment that furrows her brow. She doesn’t look up at him.

“No.”

“Then let me drive you home.”

She does look up then, her eyes wide and surprised. “I – I couldn’t possibly impose upon you like that –”

“It’s not.” He steps toward her on his crutches. “An imposition, I mean. I’ve got no where else to be.”

Her teeth worry at her pink lip, and _oh_ , it makes Ben’s head spin to think about all the things he wants to do to her pretty little mouth.

“All right.” She straightens up, all business, as though she isn’t standing there in a see-through shirt. As though she hasn’t spent the last half hour showing him how good she would fuck him, if he could only have her.

“Here.” With minimal struggle, Ben manages to strip off his zip-up sweatshirt. “Take this.”

She accepts it from him warily. It is too small for him – they don’t make clothes for people his size, at least not without a tailor. But she is nearly swimming in it. It does funny things to Ben’s head to see her standing there in his clothes.

“I’ll be right back. Wait here.”

Before she can protest, he is swinging himself across the room on his crutches and out the door.

* * *

Solo’s got _wheels._

Rey’s not sure how she’s never noticed his Lamborghini before. He usually parks it so far away, almost as a punishment, to force himself to cross the entire length of the parking lot. Everything he does seems to be a punishment.

But not this car. He has _definitely_ treated himself in the car department.

Rey’s eyes must be as big as saucers as she settles in the passenger seat. She’s never been in a car this expensive before. And Rey knows cars.

“These things can do zero to a sixty in three seconds,” she breathes, her fingers trailing lovingly over the authentic wood grain dashboard.

“It's 2.9 seconds, actually,” Solo says, amused.

“Of course it is. Ben, I didn’t know you were a car buff.”

“I’m not.” Solo puts the vehicle into gear and starts to pull out of the parking lot. It rides like a buttery _dream._ “I actually got this as a kind of – fuck you, to my father. He was more into the vintage stuff.”

Rey is beginning to realize she knows nothing about this man at all. What kind of person drops $400,000 on a car to say _fuck you?_ – to his dad, of all people? Where the hell did he get that kind of money? Is his family exorbitantly wealthy? Involved in the mafia? Does he deal designer drugs when he’s not running errands for movie stars?

Rey swallows and steals another look at him. The car seems designed for his huge body, the sunken seat fitting his long legs comfortably behind the wheel. Rivulets of water are dripping down his face, his dark hair damp from the rain.

Rey _really_ hopes he’s not a drug dealer.

They come to a red light, and Rey looks away quickly when he glances at her. “Where do you live?”

“Well, that’s awfully forward of you.”

Solo lifts an eyebrow. “I need to drive to your house.” His full mouth gives a little twitch. “Unless you’d rather come to my place.”

“I live off of 110,” Rey says quickly. “Near Avalon Gardens.”

His mouth tightens, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything about the neighborhood. It’s a far cry from Santa Monica, that’s for sure.

“So your father liked vintage cars.”

Solo makes a non-committal noise. They drive for a few moments in silence, window wipers chasing each other back and forth as the rain beats down on the roof of the car.

When they turn onto the freeway, Rey musters her courage. “What… happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Solo breathes out heavily through his nostrils. His knuckles are suddenly white on the steering wheel. There are a few moments of silence as they merge, and Rey wonders if she’s gone too far.

“He died.” Ben’s voice is quiet. “It was a few years back. Heart attack.” He wipes his dripping hair out of his eyes. “No one saw it coming.”

“Oh.” _Shit._ Rey’s not sure what she expected, but she feels like an idiot for having asked. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was an asshole.” Solo’s eyes don’t leave the road as he weaves in and out of traffic. “I was away, when it happened. Traveling for work. Not that it matters – I hadn’t seen him years.”

Rey fists her hands in her lap. She can’t imagine ever speaking about her father that way, if she ever found out who he was. “Oh.”

“He had a very different vision for my life, my dear dad.” His voice has taken on a bitter quality. “When I was thirteen, I started sneaking out to do some auditions. Small stuff. Commercials. When he found out, he sent me straight to the military academy.” He barks out a harsh laugh. “Wanted me to join the Air Force, just like him.”

“I’ll bet the Air Force would have paid some workers comp,” Rey says gently, trying to tease, but he doesn’t seem amused.

“I enlisted right after high school. Didn’t last very long. Two years in and I was honorably discharged. My father… wasn’t pleased when I got right back into the film industry.

“One night, everything came to a head. He accused me of getting discharged on purpose. As if I hadn’t given everything – six fucking years of my life – to get there.” Solo laughs again, but there is no humor in it. “We never spoke again after that.”

“I’m sorry,” Rey says softly.

“Don’t be,” Solo says again. “Like I said. Asshole.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes as the noise of traffic blares around them, rain thundering down on the car roof. Just as the traffic is beginning to break up, Solo turns to her.

“Not everyone is cut out for parenting. I learned that early on.” It’s starting to get dark outside, but Solo’s eyes are fierce when passing headlights cut across his face.

“Believe me, I know.” Rey gives him a wry smile. “My parents dropped me at the local junkyard when I was five and never came back.”

Traffic begins to move again, and they trudge along slowly. The exit for 110 approaches and then they are breaking free of the endless line of cars, flying down the exit ramp.

A large hand reaches over and clasps hers firmly in the dark.

“You deserve better than that, Rey.” She’s surprised by the sound of his voice. It’s raw. Trembling with emotion. “You still do.”

Rey swallows and squeezes his hand. “You did too.”

* * *

When they finally arrive at her dingy apartment complex, Ben is ready to put his fist through his very expensive windshield.

She hasn’t said a word, aside from softly spoke directions, since he went on his childish rant about his father. To the girl whose parents abandoned her like trash at a landfill. If this is the Shitty Parenting Olympics, Sanders is definitely coming out with the gold.

They pull up in front of stucco apartment building and Ben shuts off the car. Palm trees dot the sidewalk, but he knows this is one of the seedier parts of Los Angeles. He wants so badly to take her back to his penthouse and never let her leave. His heart aches with it.

Instead, he presses a button to unlock the car doors.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says softly. “And the sweatshirt. I’ll get it back to you on Monday.”

 _Keep it,_ he wants to tell her. _Wear it around your house. Sleep in it._ “Sure.”

“Ben.” She leans forward, and her face comes into view, basked in warm yellow light from the streetlamp. “It’s not your fault, what happened with your father.”

His chest twists itself into knots and he swallows a lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing this weekend?” she says abruptly.

 _Watching that video you sent me another half dozen times. Working out until my shoulders are sore. Not thinking about this conversation._ “Nothing.”

Sanders looks suddenly shy in the golden light, her eyes darting away. “There’s – a Halloween party tomorrow that we go to. It’s at this dive bar. Bloodbath’s Blood Bash.”

“That’s a stupid name,” Ben says dumbly.

“I know.” Rey laughs nervously. “But it’s a lot of fun, and they’ve got great drinks. My friends are going – you’d like them. There’s a contest. We win every year. And,” her eyes flash, “you could see my shitty costume in person.”

Suddenly, she leans forward, and there is the sweet, soft press of her lips at his cheek. It’s over in an instant, but Ben feels as though his whole world has suddenly reversed on its axis. Like her mouth has branded him and left him forever changed.

He realizes she’s waiting for him to reply. “I’ll think about it.” His voice is uneven. She flashes a brilliant smile at him, and Ben feels weak in the knees.

“Please do,” she says. “I’ll wear my hair up for you.”

And just like that, she bounces out of his car.

Ben is halfway across the city when he notices she left her wallet on his passenger seat.

* * *

It’s the second time in two weeks that Ben finds himself sitting nervously in her parking lot, far earlier than he’d prefer, full of agitation and hopelessly lovesick.

It’s early Saturday morning. He’s not even sure if she’s here today, but he figures this would be less creepy than showing up at her apartment. Not that he hasn’t thought about it, now that he knows where she lives.

He has decided instead that it would be better to come here, with donuts this time to accompany the coffee. He can explain to her in person that he can’t possibly come to her silly Halloween party. A dive bar is far too public – someone would surely recognize him. Besides, Ben hates parties almost as much as he hates sitting out in parking lots with his foot jiggling nervously up and down. He has never been good at socializing.

Steeling himself, he grabs the bag of coffee and donuts, feels for her wallet in his pocket, and heads toward the building on his crutches.

Thankfully, he’s remembered his sunglasses today. So when a young man comes to the front door instead of Rey, he doesn’t completely lose his shit.

“Who the hell are you?” Ben asks.

“Excuse me?” The young man frowns at him. “Who are _you?_ Do you have an appointment?”

The man steps outside. Ben recognizes him from the photo on Sanders’ desktop background and immediately feels his hackles rise.

“Yes. Well, no. Not today. I’m here to see Rey.”

Squinting against the sunlight, the man leans forward, examining him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Ben silently thanks a nameless deity that he remembered the damn sunglasses today. “I’m a patient of Rey’s. I’m here to speak with her.”

“Are you sure I don’t know you?” The man scratches his chin, tilting his head. “You look really familiar.”

“I’m sure. Where is Rey?”

“She teaches yoga today.” The man is giving him a wary look. “I rent this office with her.”

“Where?”

“Um… this office right here.”

Something twitches in Ben’s jaw. “No. Where does she teach yoga?”

“At the Resistance Healing Center. What’s your name, anyway? I can leave a message.”

He is already leaving. When he’s halfway back to his car, he hears the man shout after him, “Have a nice day too, asshole!”

Ben smirks.

Ten minutes later, he is pulling up to the Resistance Healing Center, courtesy of his phone’s GPS. It’s a big, beautiful building, shaped like a small dome. A few palms sway out front.

There are several cars in the parking lot already. Ben knows this is risky. But he doesn’t plan to be seen. He tightens the hoodie around his chin so that it almost comically hugs his face. Glancing in the mirror, he confirms all that’s visible is the hideous sunglasses and his monstrously large nose.

The front door is unlocked, and mercifully, the handicap button is functional. Ben makes his way down the hall as stealthily as he can with crutches. The walls are covered in inspirational posters, featuring any number of inane quotes from charlatans babbling about _truth_ and _energy_ and _healing._ Ben would rather be anywhere else in the world, if he didn’t know Rey Sanders were also here.

And she is here. He catches sight of a sign with her picture on it, and his breath catches in his lungs for a moment. She is smiling, as always, surrounded by a large graphic of a rising sun. _Wake up with Rey!_ the poster says. Ben swallows. There are no words to describe how much he would like to do that.

Upon closer inspection, he confirms the poster is for her yoga class, Thursdays and Saturdays, in room 104. Silently as he can manage, he makes his way down the hall, turns down another, follows another sign and then:

There she is.

Room 104 has a glass door, which treats Ben to a full view of the class inside. A number of women are striking some ridiculously complex pose, but his eyes are immediately drawn to the instructor at the front of the room. Rey Sanders has one foot planted firmly on the ground, the other bowed behind her, toe pointing toward the sky. One arm is straight back, touching her toe. The other is held in an unwavering line before her.

She is a goddess, Ben thinks. She cannot possibly be real. He wonders if this is what it feels like to be in love.

“Well, look who it is.”

If there is anything equivalent to a cold shower, the voice of his fucking uncle standing behind him would certainly fit the bill.

Ben spins around in dread, nearly falling over on his crutches.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he spits out.

Skywalker looks the same since Ben last saw him six years ago. Just with more white hair. “You’re standing in the middle of my health center, kid. I own this place.” He laughs, and Ben thinks he might throw up. “Now why is my nephew spying on my yoga class?”

* * *

They sit in Skywalker’s office. It stinks of incense. It’s a mess, just as Ben would have expected. Just like everything about this man and his life. He should have know that Resistance Healing Center, from its bullshit posters to its bullshit essential oils shop, _reeked_ of Luke Skywalker. His fucking uncle and his fucking hippie bullshit.

Every fiber of Ben’s being is screaming at him to stand up and get as far away from this man as possible. He swore to himself six years ago he would never see his uncle’s smarmy face again, and he’s done a good job keeping that promise.

But now, Ben finds, there is a more important reason for him to stay.

“She doesn’t know who I am,” Ben grits out.

Skywalker laughs good-naturedly. “Of course she doesn’t. She hates mainstream cinema.”

Ben does not want to know how his uncle gleaned that particular nugget of information. In fact, he doesn’t want to think about his uncle knowing _anything_ about Rey Sanders at all.

“She’s going to find out eventually, you know.”

He closes his eyes deliberately. This is not something he wants to think about, and especially not here, with Luke fucking Skywalker staring at him with something far too close to pity in his eyes. “I know that. I’m not an idiot.”

“So why not tell her?” Skywalker leans back in his chair. “She’s very down-to-earth, our Rey. I’m sure she’d understand.”

 _Our Rey._ Ben _seethes_ at the thought of his uncle possessing any part of her. There is a small, smiling buddha on the edge of his desk. Ben wonders how many times it would take for him to crash it against Skywalker’s face before it bashes through his skull.

“I plan to.” Ben’s eyes fly open and he stares his uncle down with barely repressed fury. “Not that that’s any of your concern.”

And here it comes: The part he has been dreading, acid crawling up his throat, since the moment he saw Skywalker in the hallway.

“Uncle. I am asking this as a favor. You have done little to help me in this life –“

Skywalker snorts.

“– so please, just do me this. Please. _Do not_ tell her who I really am.”

Skywalker’s bushy eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline. “Ben, my boy. There’s no need to be so dramatic. Your secret is safe with me.”

Ben’s mouth drops open. Relief, tentative and hopeful, is nudging at his heart. That was it? That couldn’t have been it.

“Of course, you’ll have to do me a favor in return.”

“Of course.” His jaw clenches, steeling himself for whatever service his uncle is ready to ask of his celebrity nephew, finally useful to him, after all these years.

Luke Skywalker leans forward across the desk, and for a moment, Ben feels like he’s 15 years old again, trembling before this man’s ever-knowing, icy gaze.

“You need to call your mother.”

* * *

Much later that evening, Ben sits alone in his bedroom. He pops a donut from his morning’s failed expedition into his mouth, dry and just at the crunchy edge of staleness. On his phone screen, a slightly drunk Rey Sanders, dressed as Kylo Ren’s arch-nemesis, leaps forward with a roundhouse kick and then dissolves in a fit of giggles.

 _For our first place entrance on Saturday,_ she had written below in a text not meant for his eyes.

His gaze lingers on the emoji blowing a kiss, and his eyelashes flutter shut as he remembers the sound of the rain on his car roof, her little hand grasping his arm as she leaned forward to brush her mouth against his cheek.

Ben can’t possibly go. There will be too many people. Someone will recognize him, and this ridiculous charade will come crashing down around him like a house on fire. Her friends would be there, she said. They would surely despise him. Ben does not like people. Ben does not like parties.

 _You could see my shitty costume in person._ He remembers her amber eyes, flashing in the streetlight. _I’ll wear my hair up for you._

 _Fuck it,_ Ben thinks. Grabbing his crutches, he digs out his leather jacket from his closet and his Kylo Ren helmet from the top shelf. Stopping only to pour himself a shot of whiskey, he fastens the helmet on his head, grabs his keys, and slams the penthouse door on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goddd this chapter was so long but I just couldn't break it up! I hope you guys enjoyed the cameo appearances and that this wasn't too plotty for everyone. I've literally been writing all day again... I am an actual slave to this fic. 
> 
> To everyone leaving so much love: Your encouragement means the entire world to me and keeps me glued to my laptop, writing away.
> 
> I wasn't planning on getting festive with this story but I guess I've been bitten by the spook bug. I'm hoping to get their Halloween shenanigans posted before the 31st, so stay tuned! THANK YOU so much for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween.

It’s fast approaching 11 p.m., the glow-in-the-dark beer pong tournament is well underway, their costumes are the talk of the bar – and all Rey can think about is Ben Solo.

He’s probably not going to show up. She realized this when she saw the look on his face yesterday, along with his non-committal answer to her invitation.

Rey knows rejection when she sees it. She’s been seeing it all her life.

Still, it hadn’t stopped hope from burning bright and fierce in her chest when Finn picked her up earlier that evening. She had fashioned her hair in three buns, just like Kira wears it in the pictures Finn left at her apartment.

Just like Solo had asked her to.

And Rey, who’d usually rather stab her eyes out with a pencil than try to put on eyeliner, had even spent a little time applying some makeup. As she’d rubbed the charcoal pencil along her lower lashline, Rey had entertained a few deluded fantasies about the way Solo’s face would look when he saw her.

It’s a dangerous game she’s playing, she knows. He’s a patient. But there’s no rule in the state board’s code of conduct against being friends.

She just needs to hold herself together in the meanwhile so she doesn’t end up climbing him like a gigantic, beautiful tree.

Not that it matters. It’s time to face the truth, she thinks sullenly. Rey’s not going to be seeing Solo’s face tonight, shocked or otherwise.

This doesn’t, however, stop Rey from checking her phone for the 15th time while Finn orders them another round of ciders.

“Who are you texting?” Finn is suddenly at her shoulder, making a show of trying to look at her screen as he slides her a pint.

“No one.”

“You’ve been on your phone every three minutes since we got here.”

“It’s nobody,” she repeats, trying not to sound too bitter. “I’m going to need something stronger than this to get through this party.”

“Hey.” Finn flicks one of her buns, coaxing a smile out of her. “You’re not yourself tonight, Peanut. What’s on your mind?”

Rey sighs and tries to pull herself together for her friend. “Just a long week, I guess. This running your own clinic business is harder than Luke makes it out to be.”

Finn snorts. “Hey, that reminds me. Did Tall, Dark and Terrifying pay you a visit at the healing center this morning?”

Rey is genuinely perplexed. “Who?”

“Some huge guy came around looking for you today at the clinic. Sunglasses. Sweatshirt. If it weren't for the weird shades he'd look like he was straight off the cover of some metal album.”

Her heart instantly gives a traitorous flutter. Ben had come by the office this morning? “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Not sure. He just kept asking for you. I think he might have been a little slow. Not a very talkative guy.”

At that moment, a gaggle of young women bursts between them. They either almost certainly have fake IDs, or Rey is getting older than she realized.

“Your costumes are  _out of this world,”_ one of them gushes. She is one of at least a dozen women at this bar wearing cat ears. “Can we get a selfie with you? Kira is my _girl!”_

“Hell yes!” Finn leaps off his stool and whips out his fake blaster from his belt. Rey can’t help her grin. It warms her to her core to see how much her best friend enjoys playing the part.

Shaking off her melancholy, Rey assumes the pose they’d practiced back at the apartment – back-to-back, Rey bearing her staff, Finn with his blaster.

The girls crowd around for several selfies, giggling.

“You guys are _totally_ taking home first prize tonight.”

“I don’t know,” says Cat Girl, waggling her eyebrows. “The Kylo Ren over there might have you beat.”

Both their eyes are immediately drawn across the bar – and Rey’s thoughts grind to a halt.

Rey is a practical person. So she’s ninety five percent sure that the music doesn’t actually stop, that time doesn’t really slow down to a standstill. But she can’t be completely certain because her heart is skipping in a syncopated rhythm and she can’t form any coherent thoughts to rationalize the way her surroundings are fading around her, converging in a rush on a single point in the room, right next to the entrance.

He’s here.

He _came._

“Holy _shit.”_ Finn sounds a mixture of both disappointed and awestruck. “How are we supposed to compete with that?”

Solo’s face is completely obscured by a sleek, black helmet. The very same helmet, it would seem, that Kylo Ren was wearing in the picture that Rey has definitely spent too much time examining this week. Either Solo spent a ton of money on a replica, or he is one hell of a cosplayer. Or both.

But Rey doesn’t need to see his face to know that it’s him. She would recognize those shoulders anywhere.

And they look _massive_ right now, their bulk shaping out a sleek black jacket that Rey can only assume is authentic leather. It’s another startling resemblance to the original costume from the picture on Rey’s counter, and it fits him perfectly, hugging his slim waist. His legs are outfitted in equally form-fitting pants, also black, that are interrupted only by his cast.

At that moment, Kylo Ren’s helmet swivels toward them, and Rey feels winded by the intensity that crashes over her. The crowd seems to part for him as he purposefully makes his way on his crutches through a throng of admirers, ignoring them as they pepper him with questions about his costume.

Until he arrives right in front of them.

“The girl I’ve heard so much about.”

His words are heavily distorted through the mask, but the effect just makes his voice deeper. Colder. It’s unexpectedly attractive.

“Holy shit!” Finn looks even more in awe than she does. “Dude, that is the most authentic Kylo Ren mask I have ever seen. And let me tell you, I've been to a _lot_ of Comic Cons.” He leans toward him, eyes huge. “Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Kylo Ren.” Rey tries the name out in her mouth, and finds that she likes it quite a lot. She smiles up at him. “So glad you could make it.”

* * *

For once, Ben is grateful to be wearing this stupid mask.

It means he can stare at Rey Sanders as much as he wants.

She is stunning. He knew that from the moment he saw her. But to see her like this… It makes Ben feel as though he’s been turned upside down and placed back in a reality that is fuzzy and unknown, almost like a dream.

Her outfit is even more exquisite in person. The wisps of her sheer tunic flow over her shoulders like black water, rippling with her every movement. Her delicate hands are hidden by thin black gloves that hug her elbows. Ben wants to take them off with his teeth, finger by finger.

The irony doesn’t escape him. His lovely Rey is standing proudly before him, looking every inch the fighter that is the fury and fixation of Kylo Ren’s existence.

It’s a strange collision of his two lives, past and present, and it makes him feel oddly possessive.

Her useless sidekick, dressed as Ben’s least favorite character, is still babbling at her side. “Wow, man, you really went all out! Crutches and everything!”

“Those are _his_ crutches, Finn.” Sanders is laughing now, and the expression on her face is near-giddy with happiness. “This is my patient. You know. _The_ patient. The one I was telling you about at Maz’s the other day.”

She gives her friend a knowing look, and Ben’s heart leaps stupidly at the thought of Rey talking about him.

“Oh. _Ohhhh._ My bad. I just thought – the guy who plays Kylo Ren, I heard he’s on crutches too. Beat the shit out of some photographers with them.”

Ben spits out, “That’s a lie,” at the same time that Sanders says, “Would suck to be _his_ PT.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sanders gives him a strange look. With some panic, Ben becomes aware that he is losing control of this situation fast.

So he does what he does best. Leaning forward, Ben gets just a little too close to her friend, hoping the tiny man can see his terrified reflection in Kylo’s helmet.

“You must be the traitor.”

Satisfyingly, the boy shrinks away from him. “Uh - yes, that’s me. FN-2187. Shit, you're really good at that.”

“His name is Finn,” Sanders says gently, laying a hand on Ben’s arm. “And Finn, this is –“

“Kylo Ren,” Ben blurts out before she can finish. “Supreme Leader of the Knights of Ren.”

They both stare at him for a moment, and then the man called Finn bursts out laughing. “Okay, I get it,” he says, winking. “You're a _method_ cosplayer. Well, Supreme Leader, don't get your hopes up too high. Rey and I have this year on lock. We’ve snagged first prize for the past three Halloweens running.”

He slings a hand over Sanders’ shoulder, and suddenly Kylo is crowding over them.

“Touch her again and I'll break your fingers, traitor,” he hisses through the mask. When he sees the way they’re both gaping up at him in horror, he tilts his head and adds, “Kidding.”

“Jesus, man, you need to calm down with that Kylo Ren shit.” Her friend leans back with a shaky laugh. “What do you drink? I'm buying.”

“I don't drink.” Drinking means Ben will have to take his helmet off, and that is absolutely not an option.

“Aw, come on, Ben.” Sanders nudges him, smiling. “That’s not what your intake form says.”

“Yeah, _Ben,_ ” Finn says, laughing uproariously. “Come on!”

Sanders looks at her impossibly infuriating friend like he’s grown another head. “What's so funny?”

“This guy! He’s just – he’s so into his shtick,” the man cackles. “The crutches, now the name - this is some whole other level.”

“Vodka,” Ben says loudly, not liking where this conversation is going. He’s beginning to sweat under his jacket. He _knew_ it was a bad idea to come here tonight.

But he can’t possibly bear to tear himself away from Rey Sanders now that he’s seen her.

The bartender pours them each a shot of something red. Ben barely listens to the man’s prattling explanation of “vampire vodka.” Pushing his mask up just enough to let his mouth peek out, Ben throws down the alcohol in one swig.

He doesn't miss the way that Rey’s eyes watch his mouth. He suddenly feels very warm in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

As he's readjusting his mask, the DJ’s voice blares over the music to solicit sign-ups for some frivolous drinking game.

“Oh, Ben!” Sanders cries out with glee, grabbing his arm again. She’s very physical when she drinks. Ben doesn’t mind. “Now’s your chance!”

“My chance?”

“To play beer pong!”

“What are you talking about?”

Her tiny friend, draining his own shot of alcohol, seems to be joining in on the excitement. “I want to watch you kick Kylo Ren’s ass, Peanut!”

“No.” Ben is displeased to find he sounds remarkably sulky through his helmet’s voice distortion.

“Aw, come on.” Her fingers slip down to squeeze his hand, and Ben swallows. “What kind of Kylo Ren is too chicken to face his worst enemy?”

He raises an eyebrow, though she won’t be able to see it. “You haven’t even seen the movies.”

“Kylo Ren’s a big coward!” Rey shouts to the bar, laughing boisterously. Her cheeks are flushed with whatever she’s been drinking. She is beautiful.

“Fine.” Ben readjusts his crutches and tries not to show his delight in her victorious whoops as she drags him through the crowd.

He is hoping there will be a long wait for the next table, but the bartender gets one look at them and ushers them in at a table that is wrapping up.

“Make way for your Supreme Leader!” the man bellows into a microphone. Ben cringes.

To his amazement, Sanders leaps up on a stool, brandishing her staff. “Kylo Ren doesn’t stand a chance against me!” She really is an animated drunk.

Her friend, who for some unknown reason has decided to show him kindness, begins explaining the rules while Sanders attracts a small crowd with her showboating. The bartender walks over and hands Ben a bowl of small ping pong balls. They have been painted to grotesquely resemble dismembered eyeballs.

Ben picks one up. It’s still a bit damp from the previous game. “Disgusting.”

Someone slams a drink in front of him – no one actually drinks the beer in beer pong, Finn informs him solemnly – and then they’re off.

The game flies by in a blur. Ben quickly masters the art of balancing his elbow on one crutch so that he can use the other hand to toss the ball. They attract a large crowd, drawn by both the detail of their costumes and the intensity of what turns out to be a rather competitive game.

Ben, as it turns out, is very good at beer pong.

And he learns very quickly that Rey Sanders gives as good as she gets.

By the time they’ve gotten through the first round, they’ve each downed an entire pint of cider. It is a close game, but Ben narrowly seizes victory at the last minute with a well-placed shot into the final cup. He actually finds himself smiling behind his helmet as the crowd roars around them. He’s surprised to find he’s enjoying himself, anonymous behind his mask in a sea of costumes, watching Sanders laugh and snark and twirl across from him.

Ben is adamantly turning down a rematch when a handful of scantily clad Stormtroopers materialize at his elbow.

“Can we buy you a drink, Supreme Leader?” one of them titters.

“I’d let you bring some order to _my_ galaxy.”

“Why is the great Kylo Ren hanging around with some junkyard rat?”

It's just a line from the movies, Ben knows, but he can feel the hurt radiating off of Rey before he even looks at her.

“Did I give you permission to speak to me?”

The silly girl blinks, any attempt at seduction dropping from her face. “Chill out, man, we were only playing around.”

“Kylo.” Familiar fingers dance at the back of his neck, and Ben’s anger falls away. Sanders is there beside him, a soft smile lighting up her eyes. “Would you like to get some fresh air?”

* * *

Solo slips onto the line for the bathroom as Rey gathers her things.

“But you’re not going to stick around for them to announce the winners?” A whine has crept into Finn’s voice. “It’ll be any minute now.”

“I think it’s just getting to be a little much for him in here.” Rey’s eyes dart to the bathroom, where Ben is standing, huge and awkward in his helmet, among several grinding twenty-somethings in Marvel costumes. “I get the feeling he doesn’t do this much.”

“What makes you say that?” Finn deadpans. He fixes her with a firm look. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Peanut? I’m getting some serious serial killer vibes off this guy.”

Rey snorts; she can’t help it. “Oh, stop it. What did I tell you at Maz’s? He’s like a big, gorgeous man-baby.”

Finn shakes his head at her in wonder. “He must be pretty gorgeous to make up for that dumpster fire of a personality.” He ducks, laughing, when Rey cuffs him in the arm. “You should bring him around sometime. Without the helmet. What’s he like when he leaves the Kylo Ren thing at home?”

Rey considers this for a moment. “Pretty much the same.”

Finn whistles. “So we’re talking like, supermodel gorgeous? Movie star gorgeous? Stare at my face to distract you from my lack of a soul gorgeous?”

“Rey.” She’s not sure how he manages to sneak up on her with those crutches, but the sound of his deep, crackling voice makes her jump. “Let’s go.”

Finn leans forward and gives her a big kiss on the cheek, glaring at Solo as he does so. “Text me in an hour. And an hour after that. And as soon as you get home.”

“Yes, dad.”

He nods stiffly at Ben. “It’s been a pleasure. Supreme Leader.”

“I’m sure it was.”

Rey is vaguely grateful that Solo doesn’t call him _traitor_ again.

The music has stopped and the DJ has started talking, which makes it especially difficult to reach the front door. But Solo is nothing if not persistent. Rey will give him that.

“– ladies and ghouls, a tough year indeed –“

They’re approaching the entrance. Rey has always loved parties, but she is surprised to feel anticipation about being alone with Solo and away from all these people.

“– the moment you’ve all been waiting for –“

Wetting her lips, she wonders if she’ll be able to convince him to take off his helmet at some point.

“– that the grand prize goes to… Kira and Kylo Ren!”

Suddenly, the bar erupts in deafening cheers. They both stop abruptly in their tracks. Rey can’t see Solo’s face behind his helmet, but she imagines it looks just as shocked as her own.

“What the hell?” Finn’s outrage carries over the din. “Kylo and Kira aren’t even a _couple!_ ”

“They are too! It’s practically canon!”

People are starting to shove, and Rey realizes that Solo is nearly bent in half, trying not to stick out above the crowd.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ben says.

* * *

The street is blessedly silent.

They don’t speak for the first few minutes as they meander down the sidewalk. All their urgency has been left behind in that seedy little bar.

It’s just him and Sanders now.

“I told you I was rubbish at beer pong.”

He looks down to find her smiling at him, and then looks away again. If he looks at her too long, he won’t be able to stop. And he needs to watch where he’s going on these damn crutches.

“You were acceptable.”

Sanders starts laughing, and god, it makes him feel like he’s flying. “Don’t give me that. I nearly decimated you, Solo.”

There is a shriek of joy behind them, and Ben whirls around with a surge of panic. But it’s only a group of distant teenagers, capes flapping as they run in the other direction. No one has recognized him.

“You’re jumpy tonight.” She says it like an observation, not an insult. Her small face is scrunched up with concern.

“Crowds – they aggravate me.” Ben continues forward, and doesn’t look at her.

“That helmet probably helps.” She walks quickly beside him to keep up with the long strides of his crutches. “Bet you weren’t expecting to win first place with it, though.”

He hadn’t been planning to be doing anything to celebrate this childish holiday aside from an extra-long workout with his rower. “No.”

“Well, I’ve certainly learned a few new things about you tonight.” Her voice is sweet. Playful. Teasingly, her fingers brush his gloved hands. “You’re really into that Kylo Ren bloke, for starters.”

“I am not.”

This really gets a laugh out of her. “So you just picked that thing up out of the discount bin?”

“It - belongs to a friend,” he lies. Poorly.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Sanders says, smiling sweetly.

Ben stops for a moment to get a good look at her. He’s glad she can’t see his expression. “I do now.”

* * *

They end up at some kind of jack o’lantern pop-up show, arranged in a park a few blocks from the bar. A pimply teenager with a Mario hat is sitting out front, selling tickets. When he tells them the price, Rey snorts and turns to leave, but Solo simply pulls out his wallet and hands the kid three twenties.

It’s almost pitch-black in here. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the exhibit – Rey supposes that jack o’lantern art shows aren’t the most popular midnight attraction on the Saturday before Halloween – but it’s better this way.

Solo seems to be relaxing, which is a bonus. He’s no longer power-housing on his crutches like a man on the run. In fact, he seems almost… calm. Maybe even happy.

Rey bites her lip in the dark. She would like to make Ben Solo very happy.

The lamps in the park have been put out, so that the only light comes from the flickering inside the pumpkins. And there are a _lot_ of pumpkins. In every size, painted every color, carved in so many ways. Rey finds herself drawn, enchanted, to each new exhibit, ooo-ing and ahhh-ing at the scenes and faces flickering around them.

“Ben – Ben, look,” she says, giggling and pointing at a series of jack o’lanterns lined up in a long row. “It’s the very hungry caterpillar.”

She glances up to see, unnervingly, that he is only looking at her.

“Are you – enjoying this?”

“Yes.” His voice is so distorted through the mouth piece. There must be a really professional piece of equipment in there.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spots it.

“Aha!” She touches his arm to pull him down the path and into a clearing. “Now _here’s_ something you’ll definitely like.”

It’s one of the larger displays, several pumpkins clustered together. There are faces she doesn’t recognize, but the centerpiece of the exhibit features the image of the same helmet she’s been staring into all night.

Well, at least half of it is. The other half is a crudely drawn carving of whatever poor guy sweats under that mask for those silly films.

“So… do you reckon this is supposed to be the _real_ Kylo Ren?”

Solo doesn’t speak. He seems to be perfectly still beside her. Frowning, she sees he’s still staring at the pumpkin – or at least she thinks he is. It’s hard to tell with the helmet.

Rey takes a closer look. Trying to lighten the mood, she adds, “He’s got quite some nose on him, huh?”

This doesn’t elicit the laugh she expected. Instead, Solo has turned his attention to her.

“You said you haven’t watched the films?”

Rey bites her lip. “Never felt the urge, honestly.” She feels a small smile twist her lips. “If the real Kylo Ren is anything like you, though, I’d probably enjoy watching him for a few hours on the big screen.”

Solo’s helmet tilts slightly to the side. “Would you.”

“Yes.” She takes a step toward him. “How about you, Solo? What do you find so attractive about Kylo Ren?”

“His power.” Ben’s voice is almost unrecognizable, deep and gravelly. His body seems to swell, taking up even more space in the tiny clearing, and something inside Rey quivers. “He is no one’s slave. He takes whatever he wants.” His voice is slow, deliberate. He seems to embody the character. It’s intoxicating. Rey is drawn to him, like the moths fluttering around the lighted pumpkins nearby. His gloved hand comes up, unexpectedly, and his thumb brushes across her chin. “And Kylo Ren wants many things.”

Rey sways slightly on her feet. She can see her reflection in his mask – cheeks flushed, eyes wide, her mouth parted and trembling. She is aware they are crossing a line that can’t be erased.

“And what would he want right now?” she breathes, as the rough leather of his glove drags up to her mouth. “What would he do to get it?”

Solo’s voice comes to her through the deep distortion of the mask. “He would want to kiss you.”

Shaking, Rey’s fingers reach up to touch the cool aluminum of his helmet. They press upwards still, until the black metal gives way to a pale chin and then – finally – Ben Solo’s beautiful mouth, the one that has driven her to such distraction for the past two weeks.

“Ben,” she breathes, and that’s all it takes.

He dips down and kisses her.

Rey has had plenty of kisses. It’s been a while since she’s woken up next to someone, but she had her share of flings in college. She likes to consider herself experienced.

But no one in her life has ever kissed her like Ben Solo.

His lips are the softest thing she’s ever felt against any part of her. He kisses her so slowly and with such tenderness, as though the touch of his mouth is impressing something ancient and unspeakable upon her. They part for a moment, and then he’s kissing her again, deeper this time.

Rey pushes her hands further up his helmet until her fingertips meet soft hair. Teeth graze her bottom lip, teasing, and a desperate sound is pulled from her mouth. _Yes._

Distantly, there is the clatter of one of Solo’s crutches falling to the pavement, and then one of his huge arms wraps around her to keep her from falling over.

The movement crushes her to him, and her whole body is suddenly alive with feeling. She is sharply aware of every single nerve ending, thousands of them, and the precise locations in which they are in contact with the man pressed against her. This time, he’s the one who makes a sound, deep and guttural, and it resonates in the deepest parts of her.

Rey gasps, dizzy with want. Because, _god,_ does she want to hear him make that sound again.

His kiss turns into something hungry then, abandoning any pretense of tenderness. When his hot tongue dips into her mouth, Rey knows she should be grateful for his arm around her, holding her upright so that _yes_ he can keep kissing her like that, just like that, and never ever stop – but her head is spinning and she feels like she is flying, like she’s been set completely aflame, like they are at the center of a cyclone of endless sensation and she doesn’t know where they will land when the storm clears.

“Rey,” he says brokenly against her. His lips move down, pressing reverent kisses along her jaw, and then he’s mouthing hotly against her neck. She feels burned everywhere he touches her, his lips like a brand as they murmur soft promises against her throat. Rey realizes she’s whimpering, small little sounds that make him drag his teeth against her pulse point. Her body jerks against him.

Somewhere along the way, she manages to get the damn mask off his head, and abruptly, she forces herself to pull away, breathing heavily and suddenly consumed with the need to see his face.

Solo looks like a man on the edge of madness. His eyes are nearly black, wild with some deep and terrifying emotion. She runs her hand over his flushed cheek, into thick waves of hair, unkempt from hours under his helmet. Muted light from the pumpkins flickers across his eyes like fire, and Rey knows this man would consume her, if she let him.

And she wants to. God, how she wants to.

“Ben,” she breathes. “Ben, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We can’t do this.”

He grits his teeth, and the noise that is ripped from him is like a wounded animal. She has never seen his face so open. So vulnerable.

“I’m not your patient here, Rey.” For the first time all night, she hears his voice – his _real_ voice – and the rawness of it is nearly her undoing.

“Yes, you are.” She can’t pull away from him, but she _can_ keep herself from kissing him. She can. “I am – Ben, I am _extremely_ attracted to you. Extremely. But you are still my patient, and I’m – I’m taking advantage of you, right now –“

He barks out a laugh, and suddenly he is crowding her back against a bush. Inhaling sharply, she holds his helmet to her chest to try to put some space between them, but it doesn’t work; he leans forward so that she can still feel his breath fan across her face. “I think we both know who’s the one in control here.”

Rey exhales in a shuddery breath. Why do his lips have to be so attractive? She’s hopeless, she realizes suddenly. Now that she’s kissed him, she’ll never be able to look at him again without thinking about his mouth on her. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispers. “We can’t. Please, Ben. Please. I won’t be able to live with myself.”

Solo breathes heavily for a few moments, staring down at her. She can’t discern the expression in his eyes.

And then he takes a step back.

“Don’t get so worked up. It was just – acting.”

“Acting?”

He snatches the helmet from her hands. “Kylo Ren. You asked me what he would do.” His eyes dart away, searchingly. “He and Kira, they’re – lovers.”

Rey blinks. “They are?”

“Sure. Yes.” Solo stoops over to grab his crutch. Rey isn’t sure when he got so good at handling them. “I was only staying in character.”

Rey’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. Solo’s eyes catch on the movement, and then dart away.

“So… no breach of your license,” he adds. He glances back at her, and the hope in his eyes is unmistakable.

“I see.” Rey rubs her throat, which still burns from the sharp edge of his teeth. “You’re a very good actor, Ben Solo.” A laugh bubbles up out of her. To her ears, it’s just on the edge of hysterical. “You’d make a much better actor than a comic.”

Solo’s throat bobs as he swallows, staring at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They walk through the rest of the park in silence. Rey doesn’t think she pays attention to a single other pumpkin the entire time. She feels guilty that Ben has spent sixty dollars on an exhibit that either of them are even enjoying.

Will he even want to see her again? What if he doesn’t want to continue his sessions with her? Her stomach goes cold at the thought.

They emerge onto a road awash in light from the streetlamps. When she turns to look at Solo, his face looks softer in the yellow light. Less crazed. Maybe she had imagined the whole thing.

“I’m ordering you an Lyft.”

Okay. She deserves that. She definitely doesn’t deserve beautiful Ben Solo giving her a ride in his beautiful Lamborghini right now. Maybe ever.

He must see the look on her face, because he’s suddenly closer than he was a moment ago, the heat rolling off his body. “I don’t trust myself to drive you home right now, Rey. I don’t think I’d be able to leave.”

Breathing out unsteadily, Rey nods once. She doesn’t trust herself to answer.

By the time the Lyft comes, Solo has replaced his helmet. The driver leans out the window, gaping.

Rey isn’t sure how to say goodbye, so she doesn’t. With one last look at Kylo Ren’s faceless mask, she climbs into the backseat – and of course he ordered her a luxury Lyft, right in the middle of peak hours on a Saturday night. Of course.

He’s still standing there as they drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. Guys. I'm sorry. I have no clue where this all came from. I wasn't even planning on writing a Halloween segment?? I hope this wasn't too much crack and I didn't get carried away with the Star Wars jokes. The reveal is coming soon, I swear.
> 
> I'm dying to know how you all felt about this chapter so please give me some feedback?? And pretty please don't hate me????
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me <3 <3


	7. Chapter 7

When the sun rises on the Pacific the following morning, it finds Ben Solo wide awake and agitated.

He wishes he could pace. Ben likes to pace. It has always helped him clear his head. Instead, he is collapsed in an armchair in his living room, right knee bouncing violently up and down beside his left foot in its useless cast.

This broken leg has ruined everything for him. His already strenuous relationship with Snoke. His ability to flee from tabloid photographers. A good portion of his workout routine, the only thing in recent years where he has found any semblance of joy.

And now, it is stealing his opportunity to be with the only woman he has ever wanted.

For Rey Sanders, Ben would gladly risk all of it. He can hardly remember what life was like before he stepped into her office two weeks ago, grumbling about the door and the condition of her clinic. Before she beamed up at him like a small sun and he felt his axis shift, drifting inexorably toward her gravity.

Things should have been different. Ben should have had both feet on the ground so he could sweep her off her own. He should have found her cloaked in the confidence of his celebrity, not as a pathetic, broken thing, seeking her assistance.

Sleepless and full of exhausted rage, Ben watches through the glass wall of his penthouse as the night gives way to a distant line of brightening, pink-purple clouds.

For half of a moment, his eyes flutter shut, and her face floats before him – cheeks rosy with a heady mixture of desire and alcohol, her mouth swollen from where he kissed her. _She tasted like strawberries,_ he thinks. _Like sunshine._

But the long column of her throat tasted like dusky sweat under his tongue – and the whimpers he pulled from her, teeth grazing her heartbeat, like flames.

Ben’s eyes fly open and his fingers grip the fabric of his armchair. He bites his tongue, hard, and vaguely registers the metallic taste of blood. This is why he has not slept all night, since Sanders left him on the sidewalk like a hopeless, heartbroken idiot. Her skin haunts him even now, with the sunlight spilling through his living room and chasing away the evening shadows.

Gritting his teeth, Ben reaches out a long arm and snatches his phone from his coffee table, where he placed it five hours ago so he would stop rereading their handful of messages, now several days old.

He opens up the keypad – this number isn’t in his contacts, but it’s one he’s known by heart since he was a teenager – and he does something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

He calls his mother.

* * *

 “Benjamin?”

He has only two rings to brace himself before Leia Organa’s voice is reaching out to him through the speaker, tinny and far away. It makes something in his heart clench.

“That’s me.”

“Oh. Oh, Ben. I can’t believe it.” There are a few beats of silence on the line. “I’m just - I am very surprised that you’re calling.” He hears a muffled sound. Fuck. Is she crying?

“Yeah, well, I am too.”

“Are you hurt? In the hospital?”

“I'm fine.”

Pause. “Are you... getting married?”

Ben lets out an irritated huff. “Hardly.”

“Did you get someone pregnant?” She can barely disguise the giddiness in her voice at the prospect. “I'm not getting any younger, Benjamin, and you know I've never necessarily been a stickler for traditional matrimony, so -“

“No one is pregnant,” Ben interrupts her before she can entrench herself any deeper in her delusion. “At least, not anyone I know. I think.”

“You think.”

“And definitely not because of me. Sorry to disappoint.”

Again, he hears the sound of his mother’s sigh. A familiar sound in his household, growing up. “I'm not _disappointed_ , Ben. I'm happy to hear from you. I am. I'm just - trying to understand what you’re calling for.”

Does his own mother really think him such a miserable person that he would only call to ask for a favor?

“It's been two years, honey.”

He leans back in his armchair, deflating. Ben hadn't mean for it to get that long. He hadn't. “I know,” he lies. “That’s why. I thought it was time.”

“Oh, my sweet Ben, I knew you'd come around.” Leia’s tone has changed completely. She sounds absolutely delighted. “Let's set a date this week for dinner. My treat. I'll have my assistant reach out to Mitaka and -“

“I handle my own appointments.” Ben feels trapped, not unlike a caged animal. Skywalker had simply asked him to call. He hadn't said anything about _dinner_. “And that won't be possible this week. I'm booked up with shooting through the end of the year.”

“Oh, you still can’t lie to me, Benjamin,” Leia says, and god dammit, she sounds like she's laughing at him. She _is_ laughing at him. This is not what he signed up for. “Your mother watches the news, you know. You’ve got nothing to do but wander around on those crutches for the next month, waving them at errant photographers. Dinner. This week.”

When he hangs up the phone, Ben practices breathing deeply through his nostrils so that he doesn’t end up chucking it against the wall. It would be the third time he’s had to replace it this month.

If he ever sees his uncle again, he think he’ll kill him after all. 

* * *

The long days leading up to Solo’s appointments typically pass in an agonizing crawl for Rey. She’s spent the past two weeks cursing herself for scheduling him at the end of the day, glancing at the clock and marveling at how slow the hour hand seems to be moving toward the four.

But not today. Rey’s Monday afternoon is a blur of anxiety and dread, four o’clock rushing up to meet her like a panic attack. A small, terrified part of her doubts that Ben will even show up. She hasn’t heard from him since the horror show of a Halloween party on Saturday.

Because it had certainly been a horror show – and for all the wrong reasons. Ben Solo’s face, open like a wound and plain with betrayal, flashes continuously across her consciousness whenever her mind begins to wander. Rey tries her best to keep her thoughts occupied in the moments between sessions, fighting down the restless nausea that roils in her stomach.

But despite her efforts, the images creep in anyway, always at the fringes of her mind. Ready to pounce at the briefest indication that she’s let her guard down.

She can’t believe she kissed him.

She can’t believe she _stopped_ kissing him.

Rey can barely keep it together long enough to focus on her three o’clock appointment. As she’s wiping down the exam table, she notices her hands are shaking as they handle the cleaning supplies. _Shaking._ What the hell has gotten into her?

When did she start allowing this huge, beautiful stranger to affect her so strongly?

Her patient, a portly, middle-aged woman recovering from a hip replacement, seems to observe the agitation in her face. “Are you feeling ill, dear?”

Rey takes a deep breath and musters her best, friendly physical therapist smile. “No, Mrs. Rotkamp. Just feeling a bit off today.”

 _Actually, I can’t stop thinking about how I sexually assaulted a patient at a party over the weekend,_ she imagines telling her. _What’s worse, I can’t stop thinking about how much he seemed to enjoy it._

_You’d better get far, far away from me right now, Mrs. Rotkamp, because I am a failure to this noble profession and a danger to the innocent patients who put their well-being in my care._

Rey realizes with a jolt that – _crap_ – she feels moisture pricking at the corners of her eyes. And –  _double_ crap – Mrs. Rotkamp has noticed, too.

“Oh, Rey.”

The woman produces a handkerchief from her sequin purse, and Rey accepts it with her stupid, shaking fingers. It smells faintly of mothballs when she holds it to her face, just like the rest of this woman.

“Why don’t we reschedule?”

Rey’s eyes go wide with terror at the idea of being alone with her thoughts again. “Oh – that won’t be necessary –” she begins to say, but Mrs. Rotkamp must mistake her widening eyes for gratitude, because she gives Rey an understanding pat on the arm.

“I insist, dear. Let’s leave it for next week.”

And then the woman gathers her things, kicking up another strong waft of mothballs in the process, and leaves Rey alone in the empty room. 

Distantly, the door of the office's front entrance slams shut.

Rey knows what she needs to do.

* * *

For the first time, Sanders doesn’t meet him at the entrance.

The realization is like a slap across the face. Ben makes his way into the foyer, past the withering plant in the corner, tucked away from the sun. _She doesn’t want to see you,_ he thinks acidly, but that’s not good enough for him. It can’t be.

Ben _needs_ to see her. He hasn’t thought of anything else for the past two days.

Rey is sitting behind her desk when he appears in her doorway. _Looms_ might be a more appropriate description. He feels huge and ungainly, filling up the doorframe.

Her eyes glance up to meet his, and then go wide with surprise. “Ben.” She moves to get up, and then a number of emotions seem to battle for control over her lovely features.

She sits back down.

“Mr. Solo. Are you – are you all right? You look like you haven’t slept in –“

“Two days,” Ben finishes for her, his voice rough. “Sixty-two hours, to be exact.”

A flash of self-loathing washes over him when he considers how he must look – crazed, surely, with his bloodshot eyes and sunken face. He had only spared a single glance in the mirror after his shower this morning, and it was all he’d needed to know. Ben hasn’t seen his face like this since a clear August night six years ago.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rey’s voice is measured. Professional. Barely concealing the tremor beneath. “Please have a seat.”

Slowly, he seats himself in a chair that is too small for him, his eyes never leaving her face. The desk seems very large between them. Ben supposes, bitterly, that it’s for the best.

Sanders clears her throat. “What happened on Saturday was – inappropriate.”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. There are many words Ben could use to describe the feeling of her lips, opening beneath his tongue. _Inappropriate_ would not be one of them.

“In fact, there are a great many things about our – _interactions_ – that indicate,” her voice cracks, “ _extremely_ unethical behavior on my part.

“Therefore, Mr. Solo, I would like to inform you that I am –“ there is no mistaking the tremble in her voice now “– prepared to resign my license, effective immediately, if you feel I have violated your safety or your trust in any way.”

When the glimmer of a wet tear catches the light, sliding down her cheek, Ben feels his heart shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. It takes him a long moment of sleep-drunk, gut-twisting terror before he processes what she’s saying.

“Wait. Wait a minute.” Ben shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Are you suggesting that – you… _violated_ me?” He stares at her. “Have you lost your damn _mind_?”

“In the event that you are not inclined to report my behavior,” she presses on, voice wavering, “I would like to turn your care over to my colleague, Finn. He’s extremely competent, and I’m confident he would –”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ben can’t hold himself back any longer. His hand comes down on her desk in frustration, a little more forcefully that he meant to. For a brief moment, her collection of paper clips and pens jumps from the desk into the air. “Your little friend from the bar? _That’s_ who you’d like to pass me off to?”

“He’s extremely knowledgable, Mr. Solo.” Her voice is still trembling, her cheeks growing ruddy and wet. Ben can’t bear to look at her face like this. He can’t bear to look away. “And I – I can’t be trusted around you.”

Ben can’t believe what he’s hearing. He might even find amusement in the situation if Rey Sanders weren’t crying openly before him, and Ben didn’t feel like his chest were being turned inside out on the desk between them.

When he speaks, his voice sounds foreign to his ears. Desperate. “What happened on Saturday, Rey – _I_ kissed _you_. Not the other way around.” His lips twist in a humorless smirk. “Believe me. I’ve thought about it quite a bit.”

Rey shakes her head firmly, face screwed up with pain. “It doesn’t matter, Ben. I took advantage of you. You don’t understand. I’m a medical professional, and you’re my patient. There’s a – a power dynamic – you don’t _understand_ how –“

 _“Don’t tell me what I don’t understand!”_ Ben’s voice has risen to a shout, and this is quickly, too quickly spiraling out of his control. Rapidly, he rises to his feet, gripping the edge of her desk for balance as he towers over her.

If she wants a fucking _power dynamic_ , Ben would be more than happy to give her one.

“I could have taken whatever I wanted from you that night, Sanders,” he tells her in a furious rush. “And you would have let me. You know you would have. I can see it in your eyes, even now. You would have let me take _everything_.” He leans over her desk, closer. “I kissed you because I wanted to, Rey.” His gaze dart to her lips, and something softens within him. “I still want to.”

Rey’s mouth falls open in a pink little _o._ It makes him want to sweep all the rubbish off her desk, strip her bare against the wood and show her how good he could make it for her. If only she would let him.

“I don’t know how to do this, Ben.” Her voice, still murky with tears, is full of some fierce, urgent emotion he recognizes in his own pounding heart. “I’ve spent the past hour rehearsing this, about how we – we can’t keep _doing_ this. That we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

The words are like a knife twisting through his already beaten heart, and for a moment, Ben wonders if he’s made a terrible mistake.

But then Rey stands up, pushing her chair violently away from the desk to meet his height. “But the thing is, Ben, I don’t _want_ to stop seeing you. I don’t want to stop doing this. I don’t – I barely even _know_ you – so I don’t understand what the hell it is about you that makes me feel so - so –“

Without thinking, Ben grasps her tiny chin roughly in his hand and pulls her mouth to crash against his. His kiss is punishing, all teeth and crushing lips, and some dark part of him _thrills_ at how she submits in return. Her soft mouth parts beneath him, obedient, and Ben tastes salt on her tongue.

When he pulls away, they’re both breathing heavily. Her eyes are dark with desire and shock. Ben can’t help himself – he leans forward to brush his lips gently, affectionately against her sweet mouth _(just one last time)_ before he breaks them apart with a tilt of his head.

He leans his forehead heavily against her own.

“That’s the last time I’ll kiss you as your patient.”

He straightens up, putting some distance between them. Rey’s chest is still heaving as she eyes him. “Then you can’t be my patient anymore.”

“Bullshit.” Ben finds a box of tissues on her desk. He pulls out a Kleenex and gently dabs her wet cheeks with it. A dark frisson runs through him when she allows him. “You’re the best physical therapist in town, Sanders.”

“Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. There won’t be anyone else taking over my care.” He feels calmer now. More settled. It’s as if his sleepless body had been pining for her, and the touch of her mouth has brought him back home. “I need the very best care that I can get, Rey. There is no other option.” He falters, uncertainty spiking through him. “Unless – that is, you no longer want –“

“Of course I want,” she blurts out. It’s her turn to sound a bit unhinged, her laughter just a touch hysterical. “God, Ben. It _scares_ me how much I want. But I also want to give you – what you need, with your treatment, and it’s just – the ethics of treating a patient who –“

“Fuck your ethics.” Ben’s battered ego is swelling with pride to hear her say such things. He wants to brush his thumb against her cheek. He wants to kiss the insecurity off that lovely mouth. “This – this won’t happen again, in the meanwhile,” he forces himself to say instead. The words are like rocks in his mouth. “If that’s what you need.”

Rey’s throat bobs prettily as she swallows.

“Whatever you need,” Ben promises her, and he means it. He means it with every fiber of his being. “It’s worth waiting for.”

A tight nod. “All right. Okay.”

Rey steps around the desk gingerly, like she’s approaching a wild animal. With a last sniffle, she reaches up to examine his face, the cool tips of her fingers kissing the dark circles under his eyes.

“Jesus, Ben. You look awful.” Her hand pulls away. With great effort, Ben does not reach up to keep it there. “You should really get some sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Ben is starting to feel a little delirious. He can’t remember the last time he went this long without rest. He can’t remember the last time he felt so completely lost in another human being.

“I’ll just – go, then. You can put the charge through for the session.”

* * *

She walks him to the door this time. When they arrive at the entrance, he notes distantly that it’s darker outside than he expected.

Neither of them make to leave.

“Ben.”

Her fingers brush his knuckles, and he finally allows himself to look at her. She’s beautiful, this Rey. She’s fierce and stubborn and passionately kind. She will ruin him.

“If at any point you feel… uncomfortable, with any of this,” she begins to say. “If you decide to change your mind –“

Ben kisses her more tenderly this time. It’s slow, unhurried. He may be nearly mad with exhaustion, but he thinks he could kiss her forever this way.

His hand cups her face, nearly covers the entire length of it, as he pulls back. “I lied. That was the last one.”

She smiles for the first time all evening, and Ben feels his heart break all over again.

“Just – promise you’ll tell me. Please.” Rey’s eyelashes flutter for a moment as she leans into his hand, and then her eyes are wide open and piercing straight through him. “If we’re going to do this, I need to know you’ll be honest with me.”

In his heart, Ben knows she’s still referring to her strange fixation with his consent. As if he hasn’t been dizzy in skin that aches for her touch since the day she first put her hands on him.

But there’s something about her tone that leaves his stomach cold. _She’s going to find out, sooner or later._ And she will hate him for it, when that day comes. Ben knows this.

He brushes his thumb across her lips. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. That was... a roller coaster ride of emotions. I actually intended for a lot more to happen in this chapter but ended up getting a little carried away with their conversation.
> 
> Background: I spent the day writing this after a full night of terrible insomnia (completely unrelated to this story for once!) where I got literally zero winks of sleep. I don't think I've ever pulled an actual all-nighter before, so Ben might be channeling a little bit of my delirious rage here. 
> 
> In other words, I hope this wasn't too intense? Please let me know what you think!
> 
> So so many hugs to everyone who has been leaving their kudos and support <3 Every single one of your comments makes me so happy.
> 
> p.s. I'm finally on [tumblr @ohwise1ne](https://ohwise1ne.tumblr.com). I have exactly one follower right now and it's my sister, so please feel free to hop over there and say hello!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dinners, an invitation and a crisis.

The server has not even arrived with their wine before Ben is already regretting this. _Profusely._

“I will not let this rest until you get a second opinion.”

“You’re making a scene, mother.”

“I am _not_ making a scene. Our hospital has some of the best orthopedists in the country.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Did they even do an MRI?”

“Not necessary.”

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t ask me for a referral.” Leia sounds… hurt. Ben is really, _really_ not sure why he agreed to this.

Just then, the pretty blonde waitress appears with a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Ben doesn’t even let her finish pouring before he pulls back and downs it in three gulps.

“Another.”

“Thank you, dear,” Leia says, patting the flustered girl on her arm when she has filled both their glasses. “My son has had a very difficult week.” She gives the server a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps you can make it better.”

Ben has to hold himself back from pouring himself a cup.

As the young woman begins rattling off the night’s specials with a little too much enthusiasm, Ben decides to pull out his phone to send her a clear message of disinterest. And feels his heart stutter to a halt.

He has two new texts. 

 

> **Rey Sanders:** we made the news
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** _link attached_

Palms sweaty, he rapidly taps the link with his thumb. He only has a single bar of service. The web page seems to take a century to load.

When it does, he breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

 _Don’t Miss the Most Realistic Kylo and Kira Cosplay of 2018!,_ shouts the headline.

His eyes linger for a moment on the photo beneath. Sanders is smiling up at him, one hand holding her staff and the other on the back of his neck. He recognizes the moment, captured right after he decimated her in her foolish drinking game. Right before they left for the garden that has haunted Ben’s thoughts every waking moment since.

“Benjamin Solo.” Leia’s voice is scolding. The babbling waitress has finally left. “Did I raise you to use your cell phone at the table?”

“Cell phones had not yet been invented.” He glances up, feeling stifled under her glare. “And you were hardly around to raise me.”

Leia shakes her head, absorbing the barb without flinching. Almost. “Have you even noticed the way that girl has been looking at you?”

Ben curls his lip in distaste. “I’m not blind.”

“No, but you are very rude.”

His phone vibrates.

 

> **Rey Sanders:** this means that we’re famous
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** well, i’m famous anyway
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** me and your creepy helmet
> 
> **Ben:** Don’t let it go to your pretty head.

“It has been two years – _two years_ – since you last picked up that phone and called your old mother. If you think for a minute that you’re going to spend this dinner texting –“

 

> **Rey Sanders:**  sorry me and creepy helmet had to go talk to some adoring fans
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** what were you saying?
> 
> **Ben:** You'd better stop talking about my mask that way.
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** awww what're you gonna do about it tough guy?
> 
> **Ben:** Are you sure you want to find out?
> 
> **Ben:** Good girls do as they’re told, Sanders.

_”Benjamin!”_

 

> **Rey Sanders:** maybe i don’t want to be good

He feels his ears start to burn.

And of course, because Ben has done many terrible things in his life and karma never misses an opportunity to punish him, his mother notices.

“Oh. Oh my.” Leia’s tone has changed completely. _“Ben._ You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

 _Fuck._ “I don’t.”

“Then who on earth is making you blush like that?”

“Snoke,” he says, just for the satisfaction of making her grimace. But it’s only temporary, because then she is wagging her finger at him.

“What did I say about lying to your mother?”

“Fine. It’s just a friend.”

Leia raises her eyebrows. “You don’t have friends.”

“Wow. Thanks, mom.” Guiltily, Ben stuffs his phone back into his pocket before he can make this any worse.

“This actually brings me to what I wanted to discuss with you tonight.” Leia straightens in her seat, transforming seamlessly into her professional persona. She is suddenly every inch of the director of fundraising for Beck Hospital.

“Of course it does.” Ben should have known. A part of him is glad to move past the charade of this mother-son reunion and discuss whatever it is she _really_ wants.

The waitress returns with a platter of baked clams and lobster tails. “Compliments of the owner,” she gushes, with a meaningful glance toward Ben. “We are truly honored to have you dining with us tonight.”

She leaves. Rey’s unanswered message is burning a hole in his pocket. Ben vaguely hopes that Leia will get distracted with trying to set them up again.

She doesn’t.

“In two weeks, we’re hosting the foundation’s annual awards dinner. And I would like you to come.”

Ben takes a clam and a lemon from the plate. “Can’t. I’ll be busy.”

“This is not a request, Ben. For reasons unknown to me, your… _employer_ made a substantial donation as a sponsor of the event this year. I think we’d both prefer that _you_ be the one who comes to represent the studio.”

The alternative hangs heavily in the air between them. After all this time, Leia still can’t bring herself to say Snoke’s name.

Ben tilts his head, examining her. “I think that decision would be better left to my _employer,_ would it not?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a minute,” Leia says cooly, plucking at a lobster tail.

And, god dammit, Ben knows that she's right. Whatever Snoke is planning by securing a sponsorship to his mother’s largest fundraising event of the year, it can't be good. For either of them.

“Fine,” Ben snaps. “He may not agree. But if I can convince him, I'll come.”

Satisfaction smooths across Leia’s face. “I know how convincing you can be, my son. You don't give yourself enough credit.”

Ben angrily chews on a mouthful of baked clam.

“A week from Saturday at five. It will be formal dress. And,” her eyes twinkle, “maybe you can bring your new friend.”

Ben nearly chokes. He is not sure what distresses him more about this hypothetical situation: That Rey would need to learn his true identity, or that she would have to meet his mother.

Ben tells himself he is not going to let either of those things happen.

He almost believes it.

* * *

1:26 a.m.

 

> **Ben** : I know exactly what you want, Rey.
> 
> **Ben:** And I'm going to give you all of it.
> 
> **Ben:** Until you're begging to be so, so good for me.

* * *

The rest of her sessions with Solo that week are… strangely professional.

After the heated texts they’d shared (never mind the way he had kissed her on Monday, like a man starving, half-wild with it), Rey was prepared to lay down some ground rules to keep Solo on track with his treatment plant.

At least for the duration of their appointment hour.

But Solo has returned to his cool, collected self when he swings himself into her office each day at four. He deliberately keeps his distance, and when she asks to see his progress with their exercises, he complies with no argument.

The only indication that anything has changed between them is the smirk that briefly stretches his lips whenever he catches her staring too long.

Because Rey is staring. She is staring a lot. Much more than she should.

And when Solo’s not around, she catches herself pulling up the photo on her phone instead, the one from the article Finn had sent her with approximately fifteen eggplant emojis. Rey is not a short woman by any means, but she looks so small next to Ben Solo’s broad frame. Like he could scoop her up in his arms and carry her up all four flights of stairs to her apartment without breaking a sweat.

She wonders what it would have been like if they had met differently. Like normal people. In a bar, maybe, or at a yoga class. How many times would they have gone out together? She imagines what it would be like to kiss him without the accompanying wash of guilt and self-loathing. Would he be bringing her flowers along with his freshly roasted coffee?

After their appointment wraps up on Friday, Solo doesn’t move to get up off the table. He sits, perched on the edge, in a black t-shirt that is struggling to contain the width of his chest. Looking at her with eyes that seem to pierce straight through her.

“Next week is my birthday.” His tone would almost be casual if he weren’t examining her so intensely.

“Is it?” Rey already knows this. She knows every detail on his patient intake form. That awkward interview will be scarred in her memory for the rest of her life.

“Next Wednesday.”

“Oh.” She suddenly understands. “Are you asking if we can reschedule our appointment? Because –“

“No,” he says in a rush. “There’s no one I’d rather spend my birthday with.”

This catches Rey off guard. Warmth rushes rapidly across her cheeks, and she tries to change the topic. “You’ll be thirty-one, won’t you?” When he blinks at her, surprised, Rey laughs sheepishly. “It’s on your intake form.”

“Right.” His mouth twitches with amusement. “How could I forget?”

She realizes she is moving closer to him without meaning to. What is it about this man that is so magnetic?

“How old are you?” he asks suddenly.

“Twenty-four.”

“Mmmm.” Solo tilts his head. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

This is – unexpectedly funny to Rey, who suddenly bursts into laughter. “If I’m going to be comfortable risking my professional livelihood over this, I’d say a few years between us isn’t much of an obstacle.”

Solo swallows visibly. His eyes flicker to the wall clock behind her. “It’s 5:02.”

“Uh… Thanks for the update –?”

“Our appointment is officially over.”

His arms slip around her waist and pull her body toward him. Before Rey can process the fact that her hips are now caged by his big knees, Solo presses his nose against her neck, exhaling deeply in a wash of warm air.

“I’ve been very well-behaved all week,” he murmurs against her throat. Rey can smell the shampoo in his hair, so soft against her cheek. She badly wants to run her fingers through it.

 _”Almost_ all week.”

“That didn't count.” His nose travels a slow path up the side of her throat. Rey shivers. “We were between sessions.”

“Oh, is that how it works now?” Her voice sounds oddly breathy.

“You tell me.”

“Sure. Fine.” Rey can’t stop her fingers from sliding up his shoulders. “You’ve been the picture of model behavior, Mr. Solo.”

Warm breath fans across the shell of her ear, scattering goosebumps across her skin. “It’s Ben.”

“Ben,” she repeats, but it comes out on the edge of a whine when his lips chase the warmth of his words along her earlobe. He pulls away, leaving her sensitive to the sudden chill.

“Then have dinner with me tomorrow.”

Solo’s eyes are dark and searching as he studies her face, which Rey is certain has now flushed pink.

_This again?_

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to think clearly. “Ben…”

“I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed having dinner with someone.”

“What makes you think you’d enjoy it with me?”

“Believe me.” He smirks. “I know.”

A hot shiver races down her spine, and Rey feels herself leaning toward his body, pulled to him like gravity. “You said you wouldn’t kiss me until you’re out of my care.”

“I’m not in your care right now,” Solo murmurs. He tilts his chin up so his nose touches hers. “And I’m not kissing you, either.”

“That might not last long if we keep ending up like this.” Her eyes dart down to his mouth. “And especially not if we have dinner.”

“I thought you enjoyed a challenge.”

“You know me so well already.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he confesses. His expression is suddenly naked with some desperate emotion. “There are – a few things I need to discuss with you, Rey.”

She waits, but he doesn’t continue. “Okay.” Rey frowns. “Like what?”

“Things about me. About my past. But... not here.”

He looks so deeply concerned that a laugh bubbles up out of her.

“Oh, come on.” She nudges his shoulder playfully. He is so large that he hardly moves. “What is it? A massive My Little Pony collection? Are you an avid poster on Craigslist’s missed connections? Please don’t tell me you’re a serial killer, because then I’m going to owe Finn thirty dollars. Unless I turn up in your freezer first.”

Ben just looks at her with that strange, troubled expression.

“I eat mayonnaise straight out of the jar sometimes,” she confesses in a low voice. “It’s revolting.”

This cracks a smile out of him. “You’re an animal.”

“What kind of animal eats mayonnaise?”

Solo trails his fingers gently along the side of her face. “A very beautiful one.”

Rey feels herself flush to the tips of her toes.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow, Rey. Please.”

His face is full of such hope that Rey knows in an instant she has lost.

“All right, Solo. Fine,” she says, shaking her head. “You win. But only because it’s your birthday.”

* * *

For the second time this week, Ben is brimming with anxiety in anticipation of a dinner. But for vastly different reasons.

The cleaners only come on Mondays, and after the week Ben has had, his apartment has started to resemble the habitat of a much younger version of himself. So with immense difficulty, Ben manages to clean all 3,000 square feet of his penthouse.

On crutches.

It takes him several hours, but Ben is nothing if not committed. And by the time he is finished, he breathes in the order and the cleanliness around him, feeling the roar of his anxiety ease just a little.

And then it ratchets right up again when his phone vibrates.

 

> **Rey Sanders:** what should I wear?

His imagination provides him an image of Rey, standing in her bedroom, flushed from a shower with only a damp towel around her middle. Texting him. Ben feels like his brain might short-circuit.

_Something that I can take off easily._

 

> **Ben:** Whatever you want.
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** i need to know the dress code, dummy
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** business casual? evening gown?
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** big bird costume?
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** I could cover myself in mustard

His confused and hopelessly infatuated mind is not sure how it feels about this image.

 

> **Ben:** Nothing fancy.
> 
> **Rey Sanders:**  that really narrows it down
> 
> **Rey Sanders:** i guess I’ll leave my tuxedo at home

There’s a rapid knock on his door. Still trying to banish his vision of Rey in a towel, Ben crosses the hall to answer it.

Mitaka stands on the doormat, looking as though he’s about to collapse under the weight of a few dozen bags bulging with groceries.

“I came as quickly as I could, Mr. Solo.”

The smaller man pushes past him and begins unloading onto the expansive island in his kitchen. “It doesn’t matter.” Ben leans against the wall. “Did you get everything?”

“Yes, sir.”

At the beginning of his career, Ben had been resistant to taking on a personal assistant. He was more than capable of paying his own bills and keeping his own calendar. But at Snoke’s insistence, he began to employ Mitaka part-time two years ago.

And although Ben still makes his own appointments, he has to admit that it’s nice to have another person perform the more banal day-to-day activities in his life.

Such as grocery shopping.

Not that Ben needs many groceries. Most of his meals arrive in the hands of a delivery person or on a white tablecloth in a restaurant.

Ben can’t risk taking Rey to a restaurant tonight. He plans to cook her a lavish meal and woo her over his contemporary dining room set, overlooking the sparkling Pacific. He plans to leave her so thoroughly impressed that she can’t possibly be angry when he finally tells her the truth.

And then, perhaps next time, he can take her to a real restaurant.

Mitaka is naming each item aloud as he takes it from the bags, checking them against his list. “Lamb. Red potatoes. Garlic. Three jars of…. uh, mayonnaise.” He gives Ben a strange look.

Ben does not offer an explanation.

When Mitaka arrives at the huge and vibrant bouquet of flowers, however, he seems like he can no longer contain his curiosity. “May I ask who the lucky lady is, sir?’

“Lucky lady?”

Mitaka’s eyebrows raise meaningfully as he holds up the bouquet.

“It’s no one,” Ben snaps, and then adds quickly, “My mother.”

“You just dined with your mother on Tuesday.”

“Yes. And now I’m… dining with her again.”

Mitaka’s eyebrows are practically at his hairline. If there’s anyone else besides his hippie uncle who knows how little he speaks with his mother, it’s Mitaka.

“Well then.”

With a knowing smile, Mitaka finishes putting the last of the groceries into his cabinets.

“If I may say so, Mr. Solo – whoever she is... I’m sure she feels very fortunate to have caught your attention.” His assistant smiles at him good-naturedly. “So you might give yourself permission to _relax.”_

Ben swallows thickly. “I'll keep that in mind."

He watches as Mitaka goes into the elevator just outside the penthouse entrance before closing the door behind him. It is almost five o’clock and far past time to leave.

Ben does not relax.

* * *

As he pulls up to the curb, he nearly doesn’t recognize the woman standing outside Rey’s run-down apartment building.

But then she turns, and Ben feels all the breath rush out of his lungs.

The first thing he notices is that she’s wearing a dress. A flower pattern dress, to be precise, with fabric that floats up around her knees as she turns toward his approaching car. He has never seen her in a dress before.

The second thing is her lipstick. Her perfect mouth is stark against her skin in deep red. He has never seen her in that either.

And then she catches sight of him, her face transforms in its radiant smile, and Ben stops thinking altogether.

“I’m glad to see I didn’t ruin the leather last time,” she says as she hops inside. At his moronically blank stare, she adds, “With all that rainwater. Remember? When you drove me home. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” Ben’s eyes travel down to her long legs, bare beneath her dress. He forces his gaze away, his ears burning, and pulls out into traffic. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re the one who came to pick me up.”

She is positively glowing in his passenger seat. He can barely focus on the road.

“I hope you’ve been coming up with some big secrets, because I need to go back to Finn with something good later. I canceled my movie night for this date.”

 _Date?_   “We could watch a movie,” Ben suggests. He imagines what it would be like to sit next to Rey for two hours on his plush suede couch, his arm hanging loosely over the back of the cushion.

“Hold onto your horses, Solo. We haven’t even gotten through dinner yet.”

He brings them to the Santa Monica Freeway, where they head west out of her dingy neighborhood and back into civilization.

“So where are you taking me tonight, Mr. Solo?”

Ben feels his confidence rising and decides to try a smile. “I’m going to cook us dinner.”

She laughs, wide and open. “Okay. Really – where are we going?”

“That's where we’re going. So that I can cook us dinner.” He feels slightly affronted, that she finds the idea so amusing.

“You’ve got to be joking.” He dares another glance at her, alarmed now by her tone. “No way. I will not allow you to cook your own birthday dinner, Ben Solo. Absolutely not.”

“What –?”

“Don’t look so offended. This is for _your_ birthday! You deserve a treat.”

“But –"

“I know just the place to go. Give me one second.” Sanders whips out her phone and dials.

Ben feels completely caught off guard. This was not what he had planned. He thinks of the groceries in his fridge, the flowers on his counter. He hears Rey talking furtively into the phone but can barely process what she’s saying.

“It’s just the two of us. Me and, um – a friend. A friend from work.” A pause. “Yes, _that_ kind of friend.”

His heart starts to pound as the gravity of his situation begins to sink in. She is going to bring them somewhere. Somewhere with people. People who aren’t her. People who will very likely recognize him.

Ben could forget about a movie – this date was not even going to last through the first course.

“Rey,” he starts to say, but she shakes her head and holds out a finger to silence him. He watches with increasing distress as she confirms the reservation and hangs up, beaming, and his fate is sealed.

“They’ve been closed for renovations this week, but she’s going to open up just for us,” Rey informs him cheerfully.

Ben’s stomach is tying itself in complicated knots. “Splendid.”

His hands grip and squeeze anxiously at the steering wheel as she navigates him. She is an animated passenger, waving her arms to indicate where to turn, leaning forward so that her nose nearly touches the windshield as she reads the road signs. Ben would be enamored if his mind weren’t a turmoil of panic.

Should he turn around and drive her back home? Feign sudden illness?

Could he simply tell her all of it right now, while they drive?

_I’ve been lying to you this entire time. I don’t just work on a set. I’m one of the most famous rising actors in Hollywood, and I’ve done unspeakable things to get here._

_I’m in an exploitative contract with a sociopathic boss who enjoys watching me suffer. I’m almost certain he broke my leg on purpose. Your life will never be the same if anyone ever sees us together._

But the rush of his mind’s half-baked explanations and apologies grinds to a halt when he sees where Rey is directing him to turn.

He’s not sure how he didn’t recognize the road sooner. He spent hundreds of afternoons in this place as a child, climbing under sticky tables, spinning on the cracked leather stools until he was nauseous with laughter, letting Chewie sneak him cherries from behind the bar.

“Here we are!” Rey says with glee.

He hasn’t been here in fifteen years, and it still has the same neon lights wrapping around the roof, the same flickering pink sign.

_Maz’s Diner._

Ben is well and truly fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges tomatoes* I'm sorry about this cliffhanger but it needed to happen!
> 
> I promise the next part will be up so soon.
> 
> You guys are such wonderful readers and I am so grateful for all the love and support you give me!! Your comments make my world go round and keep me churning out the chapters for this trash story
> 
> (I'm also on tumblr [@ohwise1ne](https://ohwise1ne.tumblr.com) so come say hi!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey looks over her shoulder and is surprised to see that Solo is actually attempting to hide behind her. Which obviously is not working out too well for him, since he’s about three feet taller than anyone Rey’s ever met. She gives him a funny look and steps aside. “Ben, this is Maz. Maz, this is –"
> 
> “Benjamin Solo.”
> 
> To Rey’s surprise, Maz finishes the sentence for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was so late!! Please accept my apology with an extra-long chapter.
> 
> ([here](https://ohwise1ne.tumblr.com/post/180426045954/a-good-fallby-ohwise1ne-rating-explicit) is a gorgeous moodboard for this chapter – complete with Maz's milkshakes – from [@asongforjonsa](https://asongforjonsa.tumblr.com))

As they approach the diner, Rey is starting to wonder if she’s made a serious mistake.

Solo does not bother to hide his distaste as he appraises the building’s aging facade, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Did he want to go somewhere nicer? Is he offended that she would bring him somewhere like this for a birthday meal? She quickly decides that, if Solo is the kind of person who turns his nose up at a place like Maz’s, this will be the only birthday meal they ever share together. Even if she can’t stop thinking about him.

“Rey…”

“I know, I know. It’s not the classiest place. But the food is out of this world.”

“Rey. Can we –”

“I don’t want to hear it, Solo! I swear Maz makes the best milkshakes this side of –”

 _“Rey.”_ Solo’s hand brushes her shoulder, halting her. A spark of electricity skitters down her spine at his touch. Insides fluttering, Rey turns around, but is surprised to see that Solo’s expression is unexpectedly somber. “Wait. Just – wait. Before we go in there – there’s something that I… need to explain. Please. Could we just –”

The rest of his fumbling question dies on his lips, and Solo’s dark eyes slide over her shoulder, widening.

“Hello, lovebirds.”

Maz is standing in the doorway to the diner, a broad smile crinkling her face.

A surge of affection rushes over Rey at the sight of her former boss. “Maz!” she calls out with glee. “This is the friend I was telling you about. From work.”

She looks over her shoulder and is surprised to see that Solo is actually attempting to hide behind her. Which obviously is not working out too well for him, since he’s about three feet taller than anyone Rey’s ever met. She gives him a funny look and steps aside. “Ben, this is Maz. Maz, this is –“

“Benjamin Solo.”

To Rey’s surprise, Maz finishes the sentence for her.

The little woman has stepped out into the sunlight. Her smile has vanished. The door swings shut behind her, the _closed_ sign flapping against the glass.

The beginnings of a surprised smile dance across Rey’s face. “You didn’t tell me you’ve been here before,” she says, turning to give Solo a playful nudge, but the stricken expression on his face stops her. He is staring at Maz as though he’s seen a ghost.

“Met this boy at work, did you?” Maz sounds very doubtful about this. “Fellow yoga instructor?”

“Very funny.” Rey can’t keep the smile from creeping across her face at the image of Solo attempting a yoga pose. “He’s a patient. Broke his leg on the job.” She shakes her head. “Can you believe they’re not paying him workers comp?”

“Interesting.” Maz purses her lips, gives Solo a long, inscrutable look – and seems to come to an abrupt decision. Opening the diner door, she gestures impatiently. “Let’s go. Inside.”

As they start to move, however, she holds up a hand. _”You,”_ she says, pointing at Ben, “you stay. I need a word with your girlfriend first.”

Solo goes completely still beside her, and Rey feels her face flush. “Um. He’s not – it’s not…” She closes her mouth. “Can’t it wait until... later? This dinner – it’s for Ben’s birthday.”

“I know his birthday,” Maz snaps, “and it’s not until Wednesday.  _Inside.”_ With that, she storms through the door, not waiting for Rey to follow.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Solo is white as a sheet. Rey shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “I had no idea you knew each other.” _Or that she completely despises you._

“Rey.” Ben’s voice is strained. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything until now. I should have told you already. I don’t know why I –“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rey rushes to speak over him, desperate to salvage this dinner. _And they haven’t even started eating yet,_ she thinks with despair. “Maz knows half the people in this town. Though you must have really done something to make her mad – it takes a lot to get under her –”

“Stop.” Solo takes a few shuffling steps forward on his crutches. “Please, Rey. Please. Just let me explain.”

 _”Sanders!”_ Maz bellows from within the diner. ”Inside! _Now!”_

Solo looks so _pained,_ and Rey has no idea how to fix this, so she latches onto a wild impulse: Raising herself onto her tip-toes, she leans up and kisses him on the cheek. It’s a quick thing – just a brush of her lips across his stubble – but it seems to stun him into temporary silence. Wide-eyed with diseblief, he blinks at her as she pulls away. “Just wait here, Ben. Whatever she wants, I'm sure it will only take a minute.”

And before he can protest, she disappears inside the restaurant.

The diner’s interior has been undergoing a mini makeover this week. The walls are bright with fresh paint, and the aging booths have been given new life with some new upholstery. Before she can express her admiration to Maz, however, the little woman folds her arms across her chest and pins Rey with a deeply suspicious look.

With that small gesture, she suddenly feels like she’s nineteen years old again, caught scrounging for food in the kitchen between shifts.

“Why haven’t I read about this in the papers yet?”

It’s like a bucket of freezing water has been dumped over her head. Rey's mind begins to churn with panic. Maz has never been anything but supportive, even after learning the more unsavory details of Rey’s past. She hadn’t expected her former boss to condemn her over _this_ recent series of less-than-stellar choices, considering everything else Maz knows about her.

“We’re only friends, Maz. We’re not doing anything… _wrong.”_ Is she going to report Rey’s breach of ethics to the state board? It seems impossible to imagine such a betrayal, but the way Maz is scrutinizing her, Rey is starting to wonder. “It’s not like that. Really, it’s not.”

“Really,” Maz says, lifting an incredulous eyebrow. “Then tell me what it is like.”

“All right. _All right._ I get it.” Rey feels ready to cry. “He’s my patient. This isn’t exactly… typical. But in a few weeks, his leg will be healed, and then he won’t be my patient anymore. Just… A very handsome stagehand. And – hopefully – a good friend.”

Maz’s brow disappears into her hairline. “Stagehand?”

She bites her lip. “I know. It’s not the most… _ambitious_ job. But he seems to be…” Drowning in an unreasonable amount of cash? Involved in a crime family? “… independently wealthy. And I think I really like him, Maz. Even if you seem to have a – different opinion about him… I like him. He’s a good person.”

Maz snorts in clear disbelief. Rey wonders once again what the _hell_ Ben Solo did to place himself so high up on her shit list.

“How do you know Ben, anyway?” she blurts out, unable to stop herself. “It’s clear you’ve got some kind of… history. Did he forget to pay his bill? Because I’m sure that he’d be happy to –”

At that moment, Solo bursts into the diner on his crutches. He’s got that wild look about him again, like an animal that’s just escaped its cage.

“Rey,” he says, breathing hard. The door swings open and shut behind him. “Don't listen to her. Whatever she’s telling you, I can explain. I swear –”

_“Benjamin Solo, have you lost your damn mind -?!”_

Maz’s shrill voice cuts his words in half, causing them both to jump. With a fury Rey has only seen directed at rowdy drunks, she is advancing on him as though Rey isn’t even there, wagging her finger in his face – though it only ends up somewhere around his chest due to their considerable height disparity. This doesn’t seem to make a difference to poor Ben, who goes even paler as she approaches him.

“Fifteen years, child! _Fifteen years_ I don't hear a single word from you. Then you slink back here without so much as an apology, _insulting_ me in my own restaurant –”

Rey feels her jaw drop open. When she suggested they had history, she hadn’t meant _actual_ history. Like, pre first-generation iPhone history. Solo, for his part, looks visibly pained, eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them. “Maz, I –”

“– no phone call, no Christmas card – you live right down the road, or so I’m told – I've got no way of knowing myself, of course –”

Something in Solo snaps, then, and he begins to shout. “What did you expect me to do? Walk right in for Sunday dinner, like nothing had fucking changed?”

“So it was a better idea to disappear off the face of the planet, Benjamin?! At the moment they needed you most –?”

 _“I couldn’t come back!”_ Solo roars.

Rey flinches. She realizes too late that she must have made a small noise of surprise as well, because Maz suddenly whips her head around to look at her. All the fire seems to go out of the little woman, replaced by begrudging acceptance. Her wrinkled lips tighten into a line, and she shakes her head. 

“Enough with the dramatics, Solo.” Maz takes a step back, but not before whacking him across his broad chest with a menu. “Just like your father, I swear. I don’t know how you dragged this girl into your orbit, but she deserves more than your temper tantrums.”

His eyes pivot back to Rey. Breathing heavily, he stares at her, as though he’s just noticing her for the first time.

When he speaks again, it is with a tremendous amount of restraint. “I get it, Maz,” he says. “I fucked up. I did. If you'd like, we can – talk about it, or – whatever it is people do about these things. But, _please,_ this has nothing to do with –” His words are tight, full of urgency. "Rey and I have only - we barely know each other, Maz – we haven’t had a chance to discuss –”

“Dry your damn pants, child. I’m not going to bore the girl with the gory family secrets on your first date.” She fixes him with a firm look. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the illusion.”

So he really _does_ belong to a crime family, Rey thinks with triumph – and a small amount of terror. That would certainly put a damper on things. No – hopefully it’s something much less exciting. An uncle who committed Medicare fraud, maybe. Or a cousin who isn’t allowed to live within a mile of an elementary school.

Whatever it is, her words seem to take all the wind out of Solo’s urgent ranting. He stares down at the smaller woman, blinking.

“Oh, stop gaping at me like a fish and pick a damn table. Rey has told me all about your little professional arrangement. Your secret's safe with me."

As Maz storms into the kitchen, Rey swears she can hear her mumble something about _damn Solo boys._

Overhead, a cheery doo-wop song starts to play on the diner’s tinny sound system.

Now that they’re alone, Solo is staring at her fixedly. His jaw is twitching the way it does when he wants to tell her something. He’s standing perfectly still on his crutches, a bundle of barely contained energy – as though he's itching to move toward her and doesn't know how.

So Rey goes to him instead. “Been a while since you were here, I take it?”

Her attempt at humor is ruined by the tremble in her voice. Somehow, he clenches his jaw even tighter. “It’s a long story.”

"I would have never – if I had known – do you want to go somewhere -?”

  _”Don’t even think about it, Sanders!”_ Maz's shout travels clearly through the kitchen doors, and Rey winces.

“We can eat here," Solo says, his expression guarded. "I wouldn't be able to outrun her. Even without the crutches.”

The mental picture this evokes startles a laugh out of her, but Ben just keeps staring, jaw clenching and unclenching. Rey swallows. “Anything else I should know about? Other restaurant owners you've slighted that we should avoid?"

“All of them,” he responds solemnly. Rey can’t tell if he’s joking.

“Come on.” She attempts a shy smile and is relieved to see that his eyes soften in response. Praying this evening hasn’t been ruined beyond repair, she reaches out and brushes his hand with her own in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. “Let’s go get some milkshakes.”

* * *

Ben breathes a sigh of relief when she leads him to a corner booth, far away from the round table that used to be reserved for a revolving door of Skywalkers. He sends a silent thank-you to whichever sadistic divinity allowed him this small mercy among tonight's increasing number of catastrophes. It’s bad enough having to sit in this godforsaken restaurant for any length of time, surrounded by ghosts he’d long ago put to rest. If he'd been forced to have his meal anywhere near _that_ table, it might have been too much for him to bear.

Right now, however, he’s more concerned with Rey Sanders. Sitting across from him, beautiful even in her discomfort, she seems – awkward, of course, following their screaming match. But not angry.

Miraculously, it seems that Maz did not spoil his deception after all.

“My family came here together a lot,” he says, a lame attempt at an explanation. “If you hadn’t guessed.”

"Why did they stop?”

“I stopped. I’m sure they still come here sometimes.” He clenches his jaw. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.” Her struggle not to frown plays out visibly across her face, before settling into careful neutrality. “I see.”

A very old and powerful guilt is threatening to break free of its cage, buried deep inside his chest. Violently, Ben thrusts it back down. He hasn’t thought about this bullshit in years. He’s definitely not about to start now, on the first date he’s ever actually wanted to be on.

“I used to work here,” she offers, when it’s clear he’s not going to continue. “Right after I started college. Maz really took me under her wing. Finn and I could barely afford rent, never mind groceries.”

Ben does his best not to flinch. “You live with him?”

“With Finn? Oh, we used to. Back in college. I’ve got my own big-girl flat now.” Rey beams at him, clearly proud of this achievement. “Moved in last year.”

“I see.”

“He’s gay, you know,” she says, a little too casually. “Finn.”

 _Oh._  “Is he?”

“I thought it was obvious.” She’s grinning at him widely now. He wonders if the sight of her smile will ever stop giving him butterflies.

“How can a person’s sexual preference be obvious?” He recalls a similar conversation with Dameron one night after a shoot. Already a few beers deep, the man had been insisting that Ben was the only person on set who didn’t know he was gay. In hindsight, Ben has wondered if his director had been coming onto him.

“Well, Finn is definitely, certifiably gay.” She gives him a secretive smile. “If he’d seen you without that mask the other night, he would have been all over you.”

He leans forward, deciding to try his luck. “I was much more interested in his pretty little friend.”

A delicious blush rises across her cheeks, and Ben doesn’t stop himself from watching how far it travels down her throat. _This_ is why he’s here, sitting in the middle of Maz’s Fucking Diner, confronting long-suppressed traumas and risking the impossible secret he’s built to protect this strange relationship they have. This is why. These precious moments alone with his lovely girl.

A water jug slams down on the table, rattling the silverware and making them both flinch. Towering over the table is his father’s best friend, who is glaring down at Ben with murder in his eyes.

_Shit._

“Chewie!” Rey sounds delighted, but the big, hairy brute hardly spares her a tight nod before he storms away. Ben’s fists clench at the way her face falls.

“Don’t mind him,” she says with false cheer. “Chewie can’t talk. He had an accident when he was a kid. Though, he’s usually a bit more – friendly than that.”

Fresh guilt is now starting to mix with the old. Sanders had clearly been hoping to share a special part of her life with him, bringing him here. Ben is managing to fuck up even this small thing.

“When I was a kid, Chewie used to play hide and seek with me in the kitchen. Before the dinner rush.” He’s not sure why he’s offering up this strange memory – he hasn’t thought about Chewie in years, never mind the games he’d invented to distract Ben from his parents and their vicious bickering. “Maz would chuck dinner rolls at our heads when she caught us.”

“No wonder she’s so cross with you,” Rey says with amusement. “Maz hates wasting food.”

“Which is why you’d both better clear your plates tonight!” Maz has emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine, and Ben immediately feels his body tense. He holds himself very still as the woman pours them each a glass. “No more than one for you, Solo. Not if you’re putting this young lady in your passenger seat.”

If she's trying to bait him, it doesn't work. Ben is not interested in drinking much tonight. He wants to remember every detail of this evening, no matter how ill-fated. This says a lot, considering how much wine he’d needed to power through dinner with his mother. He would’ve assumed he’d need twice as much for dinner with _Maz_ breathing down his neck, but somehow Rey makes the sacrifice worth it.

He is surprised to find quite often these days how much he is willing to give for Rey Sanders. Or maybe it doesn't surprise him at all.

“The usual for you, little lady?" When Rey starts to make uncertain noises, Maz holds up a hand. “I’ll have none of that. If this boy is going to love you, he’s going to love you fish breath and all. Isn’t that right, Solo?”

The tips of his ears burn bright red. “I love fish,” he blurts out. Ben, in fact, does not like fish at all.

Maz seems to remember this, because she’s got a sly look behind her big glasses. “Fish and chips for both of you, then."

She vanishes back into the kitchen. On the speaker overhead, Bing Crosby croons some nonsense about strangers falling in love.

“This… isn’t how I imagined tonight would go,” Rey finally says, looking embarrassed. “I really had no idea. About you and Maz, I mean. Next time, you get to pick where we eat."

His breath catches. “Next time?”

“Well, yeah.” She sends a meaningful glance at him through her lashes, shy and smiling.

“Next time,” he repeats, savoring the words in his mouth. He leans back, elbow propped on the seat of the booth. “Next time, we won’t be leaving my apartment.”

She wets her lips – small tongue briefly parting her cherry lipstick – and he remembers what it felt like to lick inside her little mouth while she whimpered in his arms.

Suddenly, things don’t seem like they’re going so badly after all.

* * *

When Sanders excuses herself to use the restroom, Ben watches her go, his heart aching with the way her sundress moves around her bare legs. He wants to see her in a hundred different dresses. He wants to know her completely, from every angle and in every way.

The door is hardly closed behind her before Maz materializes in Rey’s unoccupied seat.

He nearly knocks over his water, jolted unpleasantly from his thoughts. Maz never left the kitchen – Ben would know, he’s been keeping a _very_ close eye on the doors – but the stern expression on her face keeps his mouth shut. What is it about this woman that reduces him to a cowering child?

“Congratulations on the new job,” she drawls. “Rey tells me you’re working as a stagehand now.”

 _Shit._ Ben’s throat feels very tight. “I never told her that,” he says thickly. “That must be… an assumption.”

“One that I’m sure you’ll clear up right away, yes?”

He squeezes his fists together under the table, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

Maz snorts. “I’m not an idiot, child. What do you plan to do when she finds out?”

“I’m going to be the one to tell her.”

“Are you? Because it’s seems to me like you’re with her now. Not telling her.”

Ben does _not_ like the direction this conversation is headed. Carefully, he grits his teeth and reminds himself to breathe. "Not today. But soon.”

“I’ve known Rey Sanders for four years now.” The little woman leans across the table, the severity of her eyes magnified by her oversized glasses. “Not once has she brought a man to Maz’s. Do you understand?”

“I wonder why. Do you welcome all her boyfriends this way?”

Somehow, Maz’s expression grows even more severe. “Let me make myself clear, young Solo. If you break this girl’s heart, you’d better hope people offer you more courtesy than you did your father and actually _come_ to your funeral. Because you won’t be around very long to find out.”

If Ben were here with anyone else, he would sweep the dishes off the table, tell her that she could go fuck his father in his rotting grave and storm out of the restaurant.

But he’s here with Rey. Rey, who had been smiling at him a few minutes ago right where Maz is sitting now. Painfully, he forces himself to take slow, deep breaths, nails biting sharply into his palms. Rey won’t see him act that way again. He won’t allow it.

“Think whatever you want about me and Han Solo,” he finally says, his voice low. "Nothing else matters right now except Rey. I’d sooner break my other leg than do anything that would hurt her. She is…” He trails off, searching hopelessly for words to describe the enormity of this feeling he carries for her, from waking to sleep. There are none. “She is tremendously special, to me.”

“Then tell her who you are, child,” Maz says gently. “No more assumptions."

To his surprise, she reaches out and pats his hand. Ben’s answer momentarily escapes him when he notices how wrinkled her fingers are – so different from the ones that once ruffled his hair and swatted him away from pans of fresh cookies.

The door to the restroom opens. His eyes are immediately drawn to her as she emerges – freshly applied lipstick, dress twirling around her knees, blinding smile lighting her face when she notices him looking.

When he turns back to Maz, she is already gone, the kitchen door swinging breezily behind her.

* * *

“These aren’t bad.” Solo almost sounds surprised.

Between mouthfuls of fried cod, Rey treats him to a blissful smile. “She’s the only place that makes them like back home.”

Solo doesn’t eat as quickly as her, she realizes. Not a lot of people do, of course, but she usually doesn’t care to notice. He’s perhaps taken three or four bites, while she is about to start on her second filet. Rey swallows and forces herself to pick at her chips instead.

“Back home – as in London?”

“Yeah.” Rey’s smile turns a little sad. “It was my favorite. We’d get it as a treat, when I was little.”

Before her first foster father lost his job. Before Plutt’s station wagon rolled up to the curb and the sweet couple who had housed her for the past year waved goodbye through the rear window. Rey’s pitiful belongings had fit inside a single bag. She still remembers Plutt’s cruel smile as he rummaged through them, plucking out anything he thought he could sell.

There had been no fish and chips after that for a very long time.

"What did you used to get when you came here?" she says, trying to put thoughts of London and Plutt aside. “As a kid, I mean.”

Solo blinks, as though the questions catches him off guard. "Meatballs. And – this too, of course,” he adds quickly, looking down at his fish. “I loved the meatballs, though. Haven’t had them in a very long time.”

“I can’t imagine going without Maz’s food for fifteen years,” Rey says softly. The unspoken question hangs in the air between them.

“I would have been here every day, if I’d known you were working here.”

Her cheeks begin to grow warm again. Rey smiles, even if it wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for. “Would you have asked me on a date, Ben Solo?”

He gives her a look that makes her stomach flip over. “I would have done a lot more than that.”

“Oh?” The word comes out a little breathier than she expected. “What would you have done?”

“I would have kissed you as soon as you got in my car tonight.”

She squirms. “Very forward of you, for a first date.”

“Oh, we’d know each other pretty well by now,” Solo says, voice low. “I’d have been coming by the diner every day, after all. For a month. Maybe two. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you for that long.”

Rey is definitely blushing now. “And what makes you think I’d go out with you?”

“You aren’t as subtle as you think, Rey.” He smirks. “The way you look at me, whenever I walk through the door… You stare at me, even when you’re with the other customers. Dropping utensils. You think I won’t notice, but I do. I always sit at the same table, so that you can be the one to serve me.” His eyes flit over her face. “You enjoy serving me very much.”

Rey fidgets in her seat. “That sounds quite unprofessional of me.”

“Quite. But I think you like it.”

“Maybe I just like you,” she says, feeling breathless. “You’d be my favorite customer.”

“I’d want to be much more than that.” Solo’s dark eyes rove over her face. “I’d come here every day, asking you to top off my coffee long after I’d finished breakfast, straight through the end of your shift. Just to keep talking to you.”

She plays with the chips on her plate, feeling very warm. “So how would we end up here on a date?”

“We wouldn’t. We’re here all the time – I’d want to take you somewhere special.” He leans across the table, eyes fixed on her face. “The day I ask you, I would have followed you outside after work. Kissed you breathless up against my car. We’ll have done this a few times by now, of course. But this time, I wouldn’t want to let you leave.”

She swallows thickly. “I’m sure you could give me a reason to stay.”

“I plan to.” His voice is very low. “I’d pick you up that night, and you would be – breathtaking. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’d want to park the car and carry you right back up to your apartment.” His gaze darkens. “But first, we’d go somewhere nice. Somewhere with a view of the mountains. There’d be a band, maybe. We could dance.”

A laugh escapes her. “You dance?”

He looks a little offended, rattled out of his fantasy. “Why not? I’ve had professional training.”

“Professional training? You mean _dance classes?”_ Rey is laughing openly, delighted. “You are full of surprises, Ben Solo.”

“I’m a very good dancer,” he protests, but he is fighting back a smile. “You’ve never seen me on two feet.”

“I will, one day soon.”

Ben suddenly looks very serious. “I look forward to it.” He reaches across the table, brushes his fingers across her knuckles.

The sound of the kitchen doors swinging open make them jerk away from each other like guilty teenagers.

“Two birthday milkshakes,” Maz announces. Two giant fountain glasses, filled to the brim with thick, bubbly ice cream, slide across the table. “Chocolate and strawberry. No candles. Your birthday’s not until Wednesday.”

Rey has drained half her glass before she notices Ben has not even tasted his. His dark eyes are fixed on her face, watching her lips wrap around the straw.

“You’ve got your own, you know,” she says with a sly smile. Peeking out from between locks of dark hair, the tips of his ears start to turn pink. Rey’s stomach flutters with delight.

This time, when she returns to sip at the strawberry ice cream, she doesn’t look away.

* * *

Their glasses are empty and their plates cleared. This is mostly due to Sanders, who surprised Ben by reaching across the table and finishing his chips when he decided he would rather watch her than keep pretending to enjoy the food. She has an astonishing appetite. Ben finds he wants to feed her until she can’t eat anymore, until she’s lazy with satisfaction and stretched out on his bed. Waiting to be filled with something else.

He is trying to figure out how to ask her back to his penthouse when a tinkling piano on the speaker overhead catches Rey’s attention.

At first, he assumes it’s another one of those garish big band tunes Maz uses to irritate her customers. But it’s softer than the other music, a slow, lazy dance between piano and saxophone – followed by a woman’s soft voice, reaching through the decades and stirring something in Ben’s chest.

 _All of me…_  
_Why not take all of me?_  
_Can’t you see…_  
_I’m no good without you?_

 _”Oh,”_ Rey breathes. A lovely smile spreads across her face – then grows sly as she turns it upon him. “All right, fancy feet. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She’s pulling him out of the booth before he can process what’s going on.

“Rey.” He frowns when he realizes what she’s asking. “I don’t know know if - my crutches –“

“You only need one, silly.” She removes the crutch from his right arm and places his hand on her hip instead. “Physical therapist approved. Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

It’s immensely awkward at first – he can’t really do much more than sway on one foot, holding tight to Rey with one arm and his crutch with the other – but she is as patient a dance partner as she is with everything else. With murmured instructions and a few adjustments, she shows him where to put his weight while they sway together. Before long, they fall into a comfortable rhythm, his right hand pressed possessively to her lower back, her arms looped around his shoulders.

It’s hard to be self-conscious when Rey is so close to him, gazing up at him like he’s her entire world.

 _Take my lips,_  
_I want to lose them._  
_Take my arms,_  
_I never use them._

“I’ve never had a dance partner with _professional training_ before,” she murmurs, her smile teasing. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m even more impressive with both legs functional.”

“You’ll have to show me, once you’re out of your cast.”

Her fingers have started to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Ben dips down so he can reach her ear.

“I’m going to do _so_ many things to you, once I’m out of this cast.”

The shiver that runs through her body, pressed so close to him, makes Ben feel like his heart has grown wings and is soaring away. He pulls her even closer.

 _You took the part…_  
_that once was my heart,_  
_So why not take all of me?_

* * *

The diner is dingy. Cheap. One of its exterior lights has started to flicker. No other vehicles come and go – just Ben Solo’s Lamborghini, parked near the dumpster. As though he’d been trying to hide.

Two hours pass before they finally emerge: Solo and his girlfriend, giggling about something like children. Across the street, in the silent car, the camera begins its rapid clicking as it tracks their journey across the parking lot.

Solo kisses her when they reach the vehicle. Some silent words are exchanged, and then he leans her up against the passenger door and kisses her again – longer this time. The camera has a clear shot of them both. Its shutter opens and closes over and over, the sound like shuffling a deck of cards.

When they’re gone, he pulls out a phone.

“They’ve left. Yes. I’m sure. The same girl.”

He flicks through the photos on the camera’s rear screen, until he finds one with her back to the lens. Solo’s face, frozen in a rare smile, is clearly visible as he helps her into the car.

“No sign of _her,_ no. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

A pause.

“Right away, sir. It will be there shortly.”

The line clicks. He digs out a cord for the camera and plugs it into his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can forgive me for how long this took. I wanted to get things just right and ended up rewriting a lot of the chapter. I also may have gotten a tiny bit distracted with another side project. It's an a/b/o, so if that's your thing, feel free to check it out: [Little Thieves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505975/chapters/38660429)
> 
> To all my American friends – I hope your Thanksgiving was free of political bickering and that you didn't eat as much food as I did, because I am an actual balloon on my couch today.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, your encouragement, and all of the lovely comments. You guys are truly amazing readers, and this week I am thankful for YOU <3
> 
> Diner swaying song: [All of Me,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4P0hG3sD0-E) as performed by Billie Holiday.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obsessed with [this moodboard](https://ohwise1ne.tumblr.com/post/180727351239/a-good-fall-by-ohwise1ne-rating-explicit) gifted by ladyburrito at TWD.

“You’re late.”

Hux steps aside just in time to avoid having his foot skewered by Ben’s crutch as he barrels through the door.

“And you’re incompetent,” Ben snaps. “Give me more than an hour’s notice next time.”

“Your contract says that Mr. Snoke may –"

“I know what my contract says.” As they pass a security guard, Ben scowls at her, a silent dare to stop them for identification. She doesn’t.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” Hux says as they turn sharply down the hall. “Unemployment’s made you even _more_ insufferable.”

“At least my job doesn’t involve washing Snoke’s dirty underwear.”

“Does that make you the dirty underwear today, Solo?”

To Ben’s immense satisfaction, Hux is struggling to keep up with _his_ long strides today as Ben swings himself down the corridor. Later, he will thank Rey for teaching him how to use these wretched things. But this thought only serves to aggravate his already foul mood.

It’s past four o’clock. He’s supposed to be with her _now._

When they make it to the elevator, Ben takes the opportunity to check his phone.

> _Rey Sanders:_ i can push you to 5 instead
> 
> _Ben:_ Can’t. I’ll be in a meeting.
> 
> _Rey Sanders:_ oooo sounds important

_Not as important as you,_ Ben thinks. Resentment _oozes_ from him as he glares at Hux, who is still prattling on beside him in the elevator.

> _Rey Sanders:_ that’s okay mr hot shot, i’ll see you wednesday
> 
> _Ben:_ I need your professional opinion before then.
> 
> _Rey Sanders:_ i might have to charge you
> 
> _Ben:_ Is it safe to use my crutches to trip a co-worker?
> 
> _Rey Sanders:_ depends on the co-worker
> 
> _Ben:_ He just compared me to a pair of dirty underwear.
> 
> _Rey Sanders:_ keep your bad leg supported and fuck him up

When the doors slide open, Ben waits for Hux to start walking – and then thrusts the crutch out directly in his path.

_”God damnit, Solo –!”_

The man tumbles fantastically to the ground in a tangle of limbs. For the first time all day, Ben smiles.

* * *

His amusement fades, however, when he realizes where Hux has taken him.

The lowest level of the building – the deepest of its multi-level basement – is a sprawling maze of subterranean extravagance. An explicit invitation from Snoke along with an ever-changing keycode are required to come down here. Ben’s never been to Snoke’s home before – he apparently owns an estate modeled after some villa in northern Italy, tucked away in the hills of West Hollywood. But Snoke spends many of his nights in the lowest levels of First Order Studios, entertaining a continuous stream of hopeful young actors. None of which have ever landed a part once Snoke is finished with them.

The only exception, of course, being Ben.

They pass beneath chandeliers heavy enough to pull down the entire building above them, through hallways decorated with ancient busts of men that are wiser and greater than Snoke will ever be. Past his private movie theater, where Ben remembers eating whole buckets of popcorn as a boy, sneakers still on with his feet tucked beneath him on the leather recliner.

Shoes were never allowed past the front door of Leia Organa’s household. But here, Snoke always let him do whatever he wanted.

Hux halts in front of a thick door at the end of the hall. Bile climbs up Ben’s throat.

“Really?”

“Your contract says –"

“I _know_ what my fucking contract says.”

With great effort, he bites back the urge to wipe the slimy grin off Hux’s face and goes inside.

The room is dimly lit and stinks of perfume. Two tables have been set up in its center. On one of them, Snoke’s long, wrinkled body is stretched across a sheet, a white towel the only thing sparing Ben from the sight of the man’s grotesque nudity in full.

Two young women look up from where they’re hovering over the table, smoothing oil up and down the deep creases of his back.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.” Snoke’s voice is icy, detached. Ben fixes his gaze firmly on the ceiling.

“I’ll come back later. This doesn’t seem like a good time.”

“It’s the perfect time. Make yourself comfortable.” He gestures with one clawed hand at the empty table beside him.

“I’d rather not.”

“I insist. I brought you a friend.”

The women are looking up at him hopefully, now. No doubt they are eager for an excuse to stop touching Snoke’s sagging flesh.

“No thanks.”

“Very well.” He turns his head so that his cheek is resting on the pillow, facing Ben. His eyes are closed. “There is an event you will be attending this weekend. An awards dinner, at Beck Hospital.”

“No, I didn’t have any other plans, thanks.”

“Watch your tongue.” Cold blue eyes blink open lazily, fixing Ben with a frosty look. “The First Order has made a sizable contribution this year. You will give some brief welcoming remarks, before the dinner starts.”

“What?” An old, familiar dread tightens in his chest. “Why?”

“You’ve had no other responsibilities for more than a month, Benjamin. It’s time you drummed up some positive publicity for these disastrous films I’ve invested in.” He whips his head back suddenly to glare at one of the young women, who is working on his lower back. “Harder, girl. Haven’t you done this before?”

Ben clenches his jaw. It’s bad enough that he must spend an entire evening plastering on a smile on for his mother’s sycophantic colleagues. He _despises_ public speaking, especially without a script. “What do you expect me to say?”

“It doesn’t matter. Some nonsense about the hospital. _Girl,_ if you don’t start using those timid fingers I am going to _break_ them.”

The poor masseuse withdraws her hands as if scalded. She looks on the verge of tears. “But Mr. Snoke –“

 _”Did I ask you to speak?”_ Snoke twists around, towel shifting precariously on his hips, and both women shrink away. “Get the fuck out of my studio. You’re never going to give another massage again. Both of you – _out!”_

They practically flee from the room, giving Ben wide berth as they do so. He finds he can’t meet their eyes. The door slams, leaving them alone.

“Lovely girls.” Snoke eyes the door appraisingly, without a trace of irritation. “I think I’ll have them back next week.”

Stretching, the old man sits up, his many wrinkles sagging and quivering on his arms and chest. Ben keeps his gaze deliberately elsewhere.

“That reminds me, boy. You’ll be accompanied by a guest this weekend. Your new co-star, for next year’s installment. Miss Bazine Netal.”

Ben’s stomach sinks with unexpected disappointment. Now that the opportunity has been snatched away from him, he realizes he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask Rey to go with him as his date. Ever since his mother made the suggestion, the idea has been festering at the back of his mind. It would provide him with the perfect motivation to finally tell her the truth. There would be no more putting it off – he’d have no other choice.

Perhaps… It will be for the best, if he waits a little longer.

“Never heard of her,” Ben says, feeling numb.

“You’ll get to know her _very_ well this weekend. Hux is sending you her address. You’ll pick her up Saturday at five.”

“Fine.” Ben remembers Rey climbing into his car and grimaces at the thought of another woman sitting in his passenger seat. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” Snoke swings his legs over the side of the table, and Ben gets an eyeful of the long yellowed toenails that protrude from his bare feet. “Get me my robe.”

He gestures across the room toward the closet, and Ben clenches his jaw. He feels Snoke’s eyes on him as he crosses the room, too slow on his crutches. A silk robe hangs on a hook inside, a deep, sickly yellow that hardly passes for a shade of gold. Slinging it over his shoulder, he makes his way over to the table.

His stomach turns over with revulsion when Snoke begins to rise.

The towel drops to the floor.

Turning his pale back to Ben, Snoke lifts his arms in a wordless command. The sour taste of stomach acid rises in Ben’s mouth, and he maneuvers awkwardly on his crutches to slip the silk fabric over the man’s fleshy arms, trying to see as little of his nude body as possible.

When Snoke turns around, tying the robe at his waist, Ben’s ears are burning with humiliation.

“Always such an obedient boy,” Snoke croons.

He wants to throw up.

The old man follows close behind as they leave the room. When Snoke turns to head in the opposite direction from the exist, Ben breathes a small sigh of relief.

“Don’t disappoint me this weekend.”

But before Snoke disappears down the end of the hall, he pauses, his silk-robed back catching the light.

“It’s a pity you didn’t take the massage, Benjamin. I hear you’ve been enjoying them quite a bit these days.”

* * *

Ben turns these words over and over in his mind for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Three packs of balloons didn’t seem like that many in the store – but Rey might have slightly overestimated her lung capacity. She is already feeling lightheaded and she’s only halfway through the second bag.

But even if she loses a few brain cells in the process, she’s determined to fill every last one of these fuckers.

Rey spent most of her childhood watching other people have birthday parties. It wasn’t until she moved to the States that she truly celebrated her birthday for the first time, and only because Finn wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The memory of Solo’s face, confessing that he doesn’t see his family much anymore, made a profound impact on Rey last weekend. If he’s going to insist on spending his birthday at a physical therapy appointment, she’s going to make him feel like a celebrity the entire time he’s here. Puffing out her cheeks, Rey begins filling up balloon number thirty-eight. One balloon for every thousand cells she’s murdering in her oxygen-starved brain.

This is probably why she doesn’t notice the clock creeping toward four o’clock until the front door opens behind her, inviting in a rush of highway noise from outside.

Rey whirls around, balloon flying from her fingers with a squealing _hiss._ “Surprise!”

Ben Solo stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock. His gaze darts around the lobby, sweeping over the odd collection of brightly colored balloons that crowd the floor.

“I know it’s not much,” Rey says, a little sheepishly, when he doesn’t respond. “I got three bags but I ran out of time. And oxygen. They don’t even float – I _knew_ I should have sprung for the helium –“

“It’s perfect.”

She falters, heart flipping over. “Really?”

“Yes.” Ben doesn’t often smile, but when it does, it’s more of a glimmer in his eyes, a curl at the corners of his mouth. Rey feels it all the way down to her toes.

It’s at this moment that she notices.

“Hang on.” She looks him up and down, realization dawning. “Ben… Where are your crutches?”

The smile is spreading across his whole face now. Ben sticks out his leg. In place of the cast he’s worn for the past month is a bulky, knee-high walking boot. “Surprise.”

Rey laughs openly, and surges toward him, kicking up several balloons in her wake. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“Dr. Chang took it off yesterday. It was a surprise to me too.”

“But it’s hardly been four weeks.”

“He took some x-rays yesterday. The bone is healing rapidly.” Ben’s eyes are bright as they watch her, stooped beside him and examining his left leg. “The walking boot will be adequate for the rest of my recovery.”

He’s leaning most of his weight on his good leg, with his left foot propped up on its heel. Still not ready for full weight-bearing, but Rey will show him how to walk until he is.

She rises from the floor. The movement only brings her up to his shoulders. Rey wonders if she’ll ever get used to how large this man is.

It’s different, somehow, looking up at him without his shoulders stooped over the crutches. Ben seems to notice this as well. His eyes darken, moving closer to her, and his large fingers brush against her knuckles.

“I told you you were the best in town.”

“Rubbish.” Rey feels her cheeks grow warm. “You did all the work.”

“Chang was very impressed with my progress. He asked me to pay you his compliments.”

Their bodies are very close now. They always end up like this, orbiting one another, pulled deeper and deeper toward each other’s gravity. Rey knew their date had been a bad idea – usually, she’s able to wait until at least the end of the session before she’s consumed with thoughts of kissing him. Today, she can’t bring herself to care.

Ben’s lips are soft when he dips down to meet her. The hot press of his tongue slides into her mouth, and Rey opens up to him, letting him have whatever he wants. Communicating without words how much of her belongs to him.

When he pulls away, it’s with some reluctance. His large hand is at her lower back, a new sensation – and there is no awkward maneuvering, no crutches in the way.

“I don’t think that’s quite what Dr. Chang meant.”

His dark eyes dart down to her mouth. “I just wanted a reason to kiss you.”

“It’s your birthday, Ben. You don’t need one.”

So he kisses her again.

* * *

They spend more of the session than he’d expected doing actual physical therapy.

Even though he’s been walking for the better part of thirty-one years, Ben’s body has somehow forgotten most of what it knows on the subject in the space of four weeks. The boot keeps his leg supported, but his balance is all wrong. He feels like a toddler again.

Rey never leaves her position at his elbow, ready to steady him if he starts wobbling. She shows him how to put his weight on his heel, which reduces the stress on his fracture. She makes him stand still while she gently pushes at him from different sides, testing his strength.

“Your muscles forget,” Rey murmurs, her hands on his waist as she applies pressure in gentle pulses – left, right, left, right. “We need to train them how to work again. Keep resisting, just like that.”

Standing straight is hard enough, but the true difficulty is resisting his urge to lean down and kiss her again.

The hour flies by quicker than any of their other appointments. Ben’s leg is feeling sore by the end of it, but he feels much more confident waddling around on two feet than he did when he walked through her door.

“You should still bring your crutches when you’re out of the house,” Rey tells him as she leads him into her office. “If you have any pain, don’t be stubborn about it. Use them.”

Ben nearly laughs at her. As if he’s going to pick up those miserable contraptions ever again. “Sure.”

“I mean it, Ben.” She pulls two chairs into the corner, where the remnants of purpling daylight spill through the windows and her many plants are flourishing. “You’ll end up right back in that cast if you overdo it.”

Ben slips his arms around her from behind, enjoying his newfound freedom. Her small body jolts in surprise before he spins her around to face him.

“I’ll do anything you tell me to, Rey,” he murmurs, very serious. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

A pretty flush colors her cheeks, and she licks her lips. “All right. Then sit.”

He considers kissing her for a long moment before he lowers himself onto the seat instead.

“Now close your eyes.”

A devious smile is pulling at her lips. Ben finds it hard to deny himself the sight of it. He follows her directions anyway.

Silence stretches out for a few long moments. There is some shuffling, a drawer opening and closing, and then cool, slender fingers, brushing across his cheek.

“Open.”

The lights are off. It makes the flickering candles burn that much brighter, all thirty-one of them, crowding the top of a clearly homemade cake. Rey is holding it out for his inspection, beaming down at him.

Ben’s heart suddenly feels too full. Like it’s crowding his lungs, straining at the seams, and his breath doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Happy birthday, Ben.”

When she starts to sing to him, her pretty voice is off-key and lilting. Nothing like the actresses he’s worked with, with all their years of professional coaching. Ben is sure he’s never heard anything so lovely.

It’s been exactly fifteen years since he last had a birthday cake. It was the November before Han sent him away, just as things were coming to a head. Ben doesn’t remember if there were candles. He’s certain that he never made a wish on them, even if there were.

 _Courage,_ Ben thinks this time, staring into the tiny flames that dance at their waxy ends. _I wish for courage._

Rey doesn’t turn the lights back on while they start eating. The cake has more sugar than something he’d choose for himself, but Ben finds there’s a part of him that enjoys its sweetness.

Perhaps it’s his inability to stomach such sweet simplicity, however, that provokes him to finally admit what he’s been dreading all day.

“Dr. Chang reduced my prescription to once a week.”

Chewing on a too-large mouthful of cake, Rey considers this with a shrug. Her table manners really are atrocious. “That makes sense. We’re mostly going to be reviewing exercises from here on out. So let’s stick to Wednesdays from now on.”

“Right.” Ben tries not to let it get to him, that she doesn’t seem nearly as disappointed as he feels. They’ve only got two weeks left, maybe three, before Snoke packs him onto a plan to Dublin to resume shooting. The idea of seeing her just once a week until then makes his chest tighten.

He’s not sure when it happened, but these moments with Rey have become the only thing he looks forward to anymore. He feels lost, lately, the days he doesn’t get to see her. Surely it’s not normal to feel this way about someone so quickly.

Ben wouldn’t know. He’s never felt this way about _anyone_ before – not in the space of a month or a year.

“Hey.” Rey’s fork prods at his cake, where he’s been staring for several long, silent moments. “This only means we’ll have more time to see each other outside of the clinic.”

Ben swallows visibly. “We will?”

“Of course. I owe you another dinner, don’t I?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Rey."

His stomach squirms at the way she blushes again, visible even in the darkening room. “You said something about not leaving your apartment.”

“I did.”

“Well…” Rey looks up at him suddenly, eyes bright and hopeful. “I’m free this Saturday, if you want.”

He feels his stomach drop. She wasn’t supposed to be free this Saturday. She was supposed to be with _him,_ attending his mother’s stupid fundraising event – radiant in another dress, hanging on his arm instead of holding him up like a wobbling child.

“I can’t,” he says softly. “Saturday, I mean. Another work thing.”

“Oh.” Rey’s face falls, but only for a moment. “That’s okay. Next weekend, maybe.”

“Sure.” He tries to push down the dull rage that is rising in his chest. That Snoke has stolen even this small part of his life from him. “Next weekend.”

In the dark office, they eat the rest of the cake in silence.

* * *

“I’m running out of options here.”

Rey digs deeper into her overflowing closet, pushing past old coats and ill-fitting blouses. In the back corner, she seizes upon another dress and yanks it out.

“You’d better find something soon. You’ve got about eight minutes before Luke gets here.”

Finn’s mouth sounds suspiciously full. She whirls around to see that he’s pulled out a bag of some of Luke’s creepy organic chips and is munching away, lounging across her pillows.

“Holy hell, Finn, how many times do I have to tell you?” Rey marches over and snatches the bag from his crumb-covered hands. “No food on my bed.”

“Aw, come on. Luke gave them to me to sample. He’s going to want to know if we should get them for the health center.”

“No he isn’t,” Rey says, “because you’re going to be gone before he gets here. Or else we’ll never leave, and then we’ll be late, and then I won’t be able to sneak out early.”

She disappears into the bathroom, door half-closed, to give it one last desperate go. She’s tried on five out of the six dresses in her closet, and none of them have felt adequate for the ritzy fundraiser Luke sprung on her in a pleading phone call this morning. Rey does most of her clothes shopping at Savers, after all. And she’s certainly never had a reason to purchase a dress that would look appropriate among Southern California’s wealthiest patrons, signing thousand dollar checks for a cause they don’t care about. Just for the sake of rubbing elbows with their privileged peers.

Rey emerges to find Finn has retrieved the bag of chips and is still eating them on her pillows. She sighs heavily and spins around for him.

Finn sits up, eyebrows raised. Rey crosses her arms impatiently.

“Well?”

“Maybe try not to look so angry.” Rey is very proud that she does not chuck one of her heels at his head. “It’s perfect, Peanut. That’s the one.”

“Really?” Rey turns to the mirror, examining herself. “Are you sure it’s not too… yellow?”

“Yellow looks good on you. And it’s sleeveless. You work hard on those biceps girl. You deserve to show them off.”

She does throw a shoe at him, then. Laughing, he catches it.

In the mirror, Rey’s reflection grimaces back at her. “Well, it’s going to have to work. Because Luke should be here any –“ The buzzer lets out a loud sound from the other room. “Shit. All right. Wait a few minutes before coming outside so we can get out of here.”

Finn doesn’t wait a few minutes. As Luke is helping her into his car – looking cleaner than she’s ever seen him in a tuxedo, did he actually _shave?_ – Finn comes waltzing out onto the sidewalk.

“These? They taste like dirt.” Finn crumples the empty bag of kale chips and presses it into Luke’s hands.

“Finn! Just the man I wanted to see.”

“It’ll have to wait, Skywalker. Gotta be somewhere.” He leans through the open window to plant a kiss on Rey’s cheek. “Don’t be nervous, Peanut. You’ve got this.”

Once they’re on the highway, Luke switches on some Grateful Dead. Rey tries to focus on the music and not the way her stomach is twisting itself into a knot.

“You’re a lifesaver, Rey.”

“It’s not a problem.” Rey wonders if her mounting anxiety carries in her voice. She wonders if anyone will notice how out of place she is. Swallowing, she stares out the window at the traffic.

“If my sister didn’t need every damn table full, it wouldn’t be. I thought she was ready to kill me when I told her I was coming alone.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“You’ll meet her. And lots of other people in the healthcare industry, too. This might be a great opportunity for you, kid.”

Rey bites her lip. In her mind, the night is already stretching out before her. Uncomfortable. Awkward. Jokes she doesn’t understand, and sideways glances at her outfit. Loaded questions, like  _where did you grow up? What school did you go to? How did you end up in California?_

“I appreciate it,” she says, hoping she sounds genuine. Luke starts singing along with the radio, something about having a high time. Rey is surprised he hasn’t offered her a joint yet.

This might be the one time she would accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S TIME, GUYS.
> 
> I'm already working on the next chapter because I probably won't be able to rest until I get through these next few scenes. So please don't hate me too much for leaving it here. I promise I won't keep you hanging long.
> 
> If anyone is confused about that creepy scene with Snoke: nothing sexual has ever happened between them. He's just been manipulating and grooming Ben from a young age (similar to canon, I suppose), and they have a very uncomfortable dynamic. We're going to learn more about that later.
> 
> Thank you forever and always for all your comments. Your feedback is so appreciated <3
> 
> ([tumblr](http://ohwise1ne.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne))


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This chapter _may_ end with a pretty healthy dose of angst. I've already started the next one and plan to have it up within a few days, but I just figured I'd let you know what you're getting into here.
> 
> (incredibly beautiful moodboard by KyloTrashForever, who is also a fabulous beta for this story)

When Luke said they were going to his sister’s house, Rey isn’t sure what she expected.

It certainly was not this.

After several minutes along a winding, tree-lined drive, Leia Organa’s house rises through the manicured bushes. If you can even call it a house, that is. Rey’s jaw drops open as they pull up the circular motorcade, past a fountain that is jetting sparkling water thirty feet in the air. Two stories high and several times as wide, the house is a long line of arching windows and stone. There are columns – _columns_ – stretching to the roof at the front entrance.

“You didn’t tell me your sister lives in a _mansion.”_

Luke chuckles. “I have to admit, I’ve never thought of it that way. I grew up here. This has been our family’s home for the past eighty years.”

While Rey processes this information, a man opens the passenger door. Even the wait staff here wear tuxedos, she realizes. Feeling grossly out of place in her thrift store dress, Rey steps out of Luke’s beat-up car, not noticing until she’s wobbling on her heels that the valet had stretched out a hand to help her.

Rey gives him the apologetic smile of someone unused to having people help her out of cars. After a cursory glance at her outfit, the valet doesn’t return it.

As uncomfortable as this interaction is, however, she soon learns it will pale in comparison to the rest of her evening.

Inside, Luke gives someone their names while Rey tries not to gape at her surroundings. She can hardly believe he grew up here. The multi-story foyer is dominated by a grand double staircase and a chandelier that glistens with a thousand tiny crystals. An upbeat melody floats from somewhere far-off, sprinkled with the sound of laughter and conversation. Rey can’t imagine a young Luke Skywalker surrounded by such wealthy and luxury – nor how a person who spent their childhood in such a place could grow into someone she liked so much.

Luke offers her his arm. Perhaps he can sense her growing anxiety, because he gives her a twinkling smile – so unfamiliar on his shaved face. “Come on, kid. I’ve got you.”

The house is a blur of high ceilings and antique furniture. As they pass through each room, Luke is rambling good-naturedly about his memories here – but Rey can hardly absorb a word of what he’s saying. She has never been inside a place like this in all her life, never seen authentic artwork in gilded frames outside of a museum.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, as he leads her down another hall.

“That I can’t believe my boss is a secret millionaire?”

Luke’s ears actually go a little pink with embarrassment. _Just like Ben’s._ The thought is unexpected, and fills her with frustrated longing. Rey has never met anyone else whose ears turn red like his before.

She wonders how his _work thing_ is going tonight. Or – and her stomach twists – if he even has a work thing. He canceled on her so suddenly Monday. Had she screwed up irrevocably by bringing him to Maz’s? Did she do something to drive him away?

Rey tries to clear her head of such thoughts. Luke is still talking to her, and she’s barely listening.

“– was a bit of a black sheep in my family. Never was interested in any of this shit. Give me a cabin in the mountains with a bed and a roof, and I’d be content.”

The noises of conversation are getting louder. From the sound of it, there is a live band somewhere, complete with horns and piano. “Besides,” Luke says, face darkening, “if you knew how this family got its money, you wouldn’t want anything to do with it either.”

Before she can investigate what he means by this, they turn through a door and into the party.

The room is as large as any catering hall Rey’s ever been in – though she’s not sure if it even qualifies as a room, since it’s completely exposed to the grounds outside. Upon closer inspection, she sees that the outer wall is made almost entirely of a sliding glass panel that has been opened to the perfectly manicured courtyard beyond.

At the front of the room, a twenty-piece band is swinging through some muted jazz beneath the hum of conversation. White-clothed tables fill the edges of the hall’s mahogany floor. Everywhere she looks, women in flowing gowns and men in black suits are mingling, twirling their cocktail glasses and exchanging pleasantries.

Rey looks down at her yellow thrift store dress and feels a little nauseous.

“Come on, kid.” Luke nudges at her with his elbow, where her grip has turned her knuckles white. “Let’s get you some alcohol.”

On their way to the bar, Luke introduces her to several people. Rey shakes their hands and doesn’t remember any of their names. Everyone seems to be participating in a dance that Rey never learned the moves to – witty greetings, remarks about the music, the host, the drinks. Empty smiles that don’t reach the eyes.

When Rey finally gets a drink of her own, she downs it right there at the bar, and then asks for another. Luke laughs openly and does the same, drawing some narrowed glances from the guests behind them.

“My sister’s friends never knew how to have any fun,” Luke mutters as he leads Rey back across the room. “Let’s see if we can hunt her down.”

Rey can’t imagine hunting anyone down in a room this large, among so many people. A constant stream of new arrivals enters through the door – a different door than the one Luke brought her through. He must have been trying to give her a tour, Rey realizes guiltily, and she’d barely digested a word of what he’d said. She had been too busy trying not to hyperventilate.

The alcohol is certainly helping matters in that department, at least. When another tuxedoed man materializes with a platter full of crackers topped with cheese – _“ricotta with poached pear on toasted hazelnut crostini,”_ the server informs her in a single breath – Rey takes three of them.

“A lot of weird food they’ve got here,” Rey tells Luke, around a mouthful of pear-infused ricotta.

“You hear that, Leia? Weird food.”

Rey looks up and nearly drops her crostini. A stunning woman in a floor-length silver gown is pulling Luke into an embrace. She looks so familiar – obviously, Rey thinks, because she is Luke’s sister.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Organa – I didn’t mean to offend –“

“Nonsense. I don’t eat half this garbage either. You must be the protegé Luke has been telling me so much about.”

She treats Rey to such a wide, welcoming smile that Rey can actually _feel_ her anxiety begin to unknot itself, slowly, inside her chest. It’s nothing like the tight, empty smiles people have been exchanging all around her. It’s the kind of sincerity that makes whoever she’s talking to feel like the only person in the room – the only person who has her complete attention.

Rey only knows two others who make her feel that way, and Luke is one of them.

Blushing, Rey finds herself beaming back at her whole-heartedly. “I wouldn’t put it quite that way –“

“Bullshit,” Luke interrupts. “Rey is selling herself short. Twenty-four years old, and she’s already got her own clinic.”

“Very impressive,” Leia murmurs. “I’ll have to introduce you to Amilyn. She’s the director of our rehabilitation center at Beck Hospital – I’m sure she’d be very interested in speaking with you.”

“That – that would be amazing.”

“I’m sure she’d think so too,” Luke says, nudging her. “You’ll have to tell her about how you changed our protocol for hip dysplasia patients, Rey. We’ve shaved a month clean off of their recovery after surgery.”

“That is truly remarkable.” Leia smiles like she’s _proud_ of Rey for this accomplishment, even though Rey’s hardly known her five minutes. “What a pleasant surprise it is to finally meet you. Though I was sorry to hear Maz wouldn’t make it. What happened?”

“She cancelled this morning.”

Rey blinks at the older woman. Has Maz met everyone in this town? “You know Maz too?”

“Of course I do.” Leia laughs, and the sound fills Rey’s chest with pleasant warmth. “Old family friend. I have to tell you, Rey – you’re the second unexpected guest we’ve had tonight, and a much more pleasant surprise than the first.”

Leia gives her brother a meaningful look, and Rey follows their gazes to an old man, standing alone in the corner. She immediately understands why he is alone. Dark energy seems to hang over him like a toxic cloud. There’s something about his eyes – cold and icy, entirely without emotion – that seems to wish ill will upon everything they touch.

With a jolt, Rey realizes he is staring right back at her. Somehow, that terrible, icy gaze intensifies further as it locks upon her face, transforming into something even darker and more malicious.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Furious, Luke steps in front of her, blocking the old man from her line of sight. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“The studio made a ten million dollar donation last month.” Leia is speaking out of the corner of her mouth, voice low. Her smile has vanished. “What was I supposed to do? Turn him away?”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do,” Luke hisses. “To let him, of all people, into this house – after everything he’s done to this family –”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now, Luke.”

“I’m sure I could come up with a few ideas.”

“Come now. Let’s not bother lovely Rey here with such talk.” Leia has transformed back to her charming, smiling self so quickly it is almost unsettling. “And you are _so_ lovely, child. What a fabulous color that is on you. My son’s going to be here tonight, you know.” She winks. “You’ll have to give this old mother the pleasure of introducing you.”

Rey opens her mouth to tell her no thanks – she’s already in a relationship of sorts, even if it’s somewhat unconventional – but to her surprise, Luke speaks first.

“What did you just say?”

“I know you two don’t get along,” Leia begins, “but he’s your nephew, Luke, and –“

“He actually _called_ you?” Luke barks out a laugh. “Christ. Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, he did,” Leia says, beginning to sound annoyed. “Why? Have you heard from him too?”

Luke opens his mouth to answer – and then swings his gaze, inexplicably, to Rey. He stares at her for a few long moments, words faltering, and blinks several times in rapid succession. He closes his mouth, then opens it again. “Yes,” he says finally. “A few weeks ago.”

He looks – nervous, Rey realizes. Not an expression she can recall seeing on his face very often.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy lately.” Leia sounds both perplexed and pleased.

Barely audible, Rey hears Luke mutter, “I might have an idea.”

“I would be delighted to introduce you two, Rey. He’s here with one of his girlfriends from work, of course – another actress, I think, in his next film.”

“Your son is an actor?” Rey smiles, suddenly happy to have an excuse to text Ben later. She’ll have to get his name to see if they’ve worked on the same set.

“Oh, I’m sure Rey doesn’t need that boy spoiling her night,” Luke says quickly, before Leia can answer. “A bit of a grouch, my nephew. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone like you. Actually – I think we should step outside for a moment, Rey – we probably ought to call Maz and make sure she’s doing all right -“

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Leia slips her hand into Rey’s arm, tucking her firmly into her side. “Rey can stay here with me. You always hated these things, Luke. Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing.”

Luke gives his sister a very serious look. “I mean it, Leia. Maz was - very sick, this morning. We might need to leave.”

“I’m happy to wait here,” Rey interjects, feeling deeply confused. “My… boyfriend – he works in film too, you know – maybe they know each other –”

Luke opens his mouth to argue, but at that moment the band finishes a song with a squealing flare, drawing some applause from the guests. The lead saxophone player stands from his chair and grabs a microphone.

“It’s nearly time for the first course, ladies and gents. But before we take our seats, we’re going to have a few remarks from a very special guest.” The room falls quiet as people around her turn their attention to the stage. “Let’s hope he left his blaster at the door like the rest of us, or we’re going to be very glad this room is full of doctors.”

There is a smattering of laughter. Rey doesn’t notice the urgent, desperate way Luke is looking at her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce the most fearsome fighter this side of the galaxy. The great leader of the Knights of Ren. And, of course, the son of our gracious host. Touching down in Los Angeles, unmasked, I give you the man who has terrified millions around the world as Kylo Ren, the Jedi Killer himself. I give you – _Ben Solo -!”_

The room erupts in wild applause. Nearby, a woman lets out a shriek of surprise and delight. Phones are being whipped out, camera apps swiping open, to fix on the stage. People are forgetting their manners, pointing and gasping and calling out his name.

And Rey… Rey doesn’t hear any of it. Nothing makes sense. Perhaps she didn’t hear correctly. _It can’t be him._ People are shouting his name. Applauding. _It can’t._

Then she sees him. And it is.

Ben Solo – _her_ Ben Solo – is striding out onto the stage, limping in the walking boot Rey had been adjusting only a few days ago. There are no too-tight hoodies and oversized sunglasses here. Ben Solo is larger than life, striking in his tuxedo, white shirt straining across his massive chest as he waves at the cheering crowd. He is self-assured and comfortable, his posture easy with confidence.

He is, every inch of him, a celebrity.

He’s smiling, Rey notices. A dazzling smile, one Rey has only been able to provoke a handful of times.

He is unrecognizable.

“What a welcome!” Ben is laughing into the microphone, a familiar sound made into something so foreign – carried across the speakers instead of pressed against her ear. “How great it is to be back with all you lovely people.”

“That’s him,” Leia says in her ear, squeezing her arm. “That’s my Ben.”

_Mine too,_ Rey thinks numbly. But no – that’s wrong. He isn’t. Ben wouldn’t be up there. Ben would have told her. Wouldn’t he?

“I know some of you will be disappointed, given all the rumors, but my film-making days are far from over just yet. I’m looking at you, Mr. Snoke.” He winks, pointing into the crowd, and Rey sees that awful old man from before, staring back at Ben without amusement while the other guests laugh around him. “You thought you finally got me with that last stunt, but I’m still standing.”

He lifts his broken leg for emphasis, gesturing with a wide grin, and the crowd erupts again. Rey is the only one who sees him wobble. She must bite her tongue to keep herself from flying across the room so she might steady him. Like she’s done so many times before.

_Wrong._ This is all wrong. How could this be happening?

“I’m not ready to get back to taking over the galaxy just yet, but I’m hoping to at least try dancing a few songs with my lovely lady tonight. And that brings me to a very special announcement. I’d like to introduce everyone to Bazine, who will be starring alongside Kylo Ren when we start filming our next installment. Come on up here, Baz – isn’t she beautiful?”

The room seems to be getting smaller, the walls closing in on every side. A tall, stunning woman in a sparkling black gown waves from the front of the stage, and Ben is looking at this woman the same way as everyone else. _Wrong._ Like she is a star. Like she is beautiful.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Leia squeezes her arm. Rey realizes she is swaying on her feet. Like she’s about to empty all the contents of her stomach out on Leia Organa’s mahogany floors.

“Yes,” Rey whispers, her voice tight. Everything is tight. She can hardly breathe.

The woman called Bazine is on the stage now. She is nearly as tall as him. At least six feet. She doesn’t come up to Ben’s collarbone, the way Rey does, short and stumpy in comparison. She’s probably tall enough to lean over and kiss him whenever she wants.

Rey feels hot. Her face, her chest. Everything, too warm. Ben has his arm around this woman’s waist. Laughing. Both of them. _Wrong._ He has the microphone in his hand, and he’s talking about the hospital, about his mother – _his mother_ – whose brother is Luke, whose nephew is Ben. And Rey realizes she doesn’t know these people at all. None of them. They are strangers to her.

Ben Solo is a stranger, standing on the stage. Grinning. Waving. Charming. Composed. Ben Solo, who brushed cake off her chin a few days ago in her dingy office. Who swayed with her, lips brushing her ear, in the restaurant Rey considers her second home. Who kissed her until she was breathless, who shook her while she was crying and insisted – _insisted_ – that he wanted this, that this was worth waiting for. _I promise._ Ben Solo, whose mother lives in a mansion bigger than Rey’s whole shitty apartment complex, where he came for her last weekend in his – his _fucking_ Lamborghini.

How could she have been such a fool?

Ben Solo is talking in his smooth, deep voice. Sounding very serious. Something about a hospital. Beck Hospital. The fundraiser. _Wrong._ His perfect mouth moves above the microphone. His perfect mouth that she has kissed. She knows every detail of this stranger’s perfect mouth. She has felt it against her pulse, fluttering in her throat. Against her lips, pulling her heart up and out of her chest. _Wrong._ His voice swirls around her. With every word it sounds more foreign, like he’s moving farther and farther away from her. Like he’s speaking a different language. Grateful. Support. Importance. Healing. Gracious. Wrong. Wrong. _Wrong –_

Mid-sentence, he stops. His voice catches.

He is looking at her.

Rey looks back.

Trembling, she stands before him. Looking. She is naked beneath his gaze. Lost. Everything, lost. Some nameless emotion flickers across his face, something wild and full of terror. _Please, Ben._ She hears the words like a prayer, deep in her bones. Say it’s all right. A misunderstanding. _Wrong._ He stares at her, his face raw, and she knows he is going to throw down the microphone and come to her.

Ben Solo looks away.

Everything is numb. Her fingers are shaking. Red wine sloshes against the sides of her glass; Rey sloshes it down her throat. Solo’s voice, through the speakers, reaches for her from far away. Or maybe it was never reaching for her at all. He is a stranger to her, after all. Every person in this room knows more about him than she does.

When the crowd erupts in cheers again, Rey realizes it’s over.

Beside her, Luke is shaking his head. “I can’t believe you got him to do that.”

“Neither can I.” Leia sounds positively gleeful. “Let’s go.” The crowd is moving. They are moving. Everything is still too warm.

Rey realizes, too late, they are moving toward Ben.

He realizes this at about the same time as Rey. He is speaking with the old man – Snoke – all traces of happiness wiped from his expression. Bazine is standing beside him, looking bored. Whatever Snoke is saying is making Ben angry – he huffs out a sigh, looking away – and freezes when his gaze falls upon her.

Somehow, Rey’s legs have carried her so she is standing directly in front of him. Or maybe it’s Leia, a gentle pressure at her elbow. Or Luke, always pushing her past her limits. To do things she _knows_ she can’t do.

“Well done, Benjamin.” Leia is touching his hand, but Ben simply continues to stare at Rey. Frozen.

“Snoke,” Luke says. She’s never heard his voice so full of loathing before. “Brave of you to show your face here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying Beck Hospital the opportunity to thank me for my generosity.” Somehow, this man’s voice is even more unpleasant than his face. Raspy, high-pitched and terrible. If Rey weren’t having an existential crisis, she might be tempted to cut him down a notch.

Instead, she is simply standing there, barely holding herself together. Her gaze is continuously drawn to Ben’s arm, wrapped around this woman’s waist. It looks unnatural. Stiff. Or maybe that’s just because Rey can’t stand the sight of it.

“Ben, I wanted to introduce you to a friend of Luke’s.” Leia sounds hopeful. Ben is still frozen, staring at her. Rey wishes the floor would swallow her whole.

Luke turns his full attention to his nephew. “I believe you’ve already met, actually. This is Rey Sanders.”

Silence stretches out between them, like a deep and endless chasm. Rey feels like she is reaching desperately over its depths, trying to meet him at the other side. Teetering at the edge.

His gaze flicks to the old man, who is studying her. Watching. When Ben finally looks at Rey again, it’s a stranger staring back at her. She realizes she doesn’t know this man at all.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Rey feels her body tip over the edge of the chasm and fall.

Solo doesn’t look at her again for the rest of the conversation. It’s mercifully brief - something about Beck Hospital’s cardiac wing and a name change. This makes both Luke and Leia very unhappy, but Rey can’t be bothered to understand why. She doesn’t understand anything at all right now. She feels like her world has been ripped open, piece by piece – then put back together clumsily, with everything in all the wrong places. Forcing the edges into gaps that don’t quite fit their shape.

Dinner is served. Rey doesn’t eat. Leia is making a speech about tonight’s honoree – some surgeon who saved over three hundred lives last year. Rey wonders what they would find, if they sliced her open on the operating table. If there is anything left in there, or if they would just be cracking open an empty shell, mangled shreds floating in the void behind her ribcage.

She no longer notices the stares, the whispered remarks about her cheap dress. She doesn’t anguish over whether or not this scrappy kid from London belongs among all their pomp and glamour.

Rey is as empty as all the rest of them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY GUYS.
> 
> Please stick with me. I've got you, I swear.
> 
> I hadn't originally planned to cut this chapter here, but it got very long and it seemed like such a natural end point. I wrote this in a state of permanent anxiety so I promise I understand your suffering. I won't be able to rest until our space babies are happy again. Please don't hate me.
> 
> If you need me I'll be locked in my office, sniffling over my keyboard until the next chapter is finished.


	12. Chapter 12

Ben has long been imagining the many ways he will tell Rey Sanders the truth.

In the beginning, he thought it might come up casually. It would be something trivial, unimportant. She would see him on a magazine and give him a playful punch on the arm – _you didn’t tell me you were famous!_ she would say, laughing. Or he would slip it in among the other details of his dull and uninteresting life, and she would hardly bat an eye.

She’d think him humble, perhaps. Private. Not allowing himself to be defined by his fame.

Then Ben kissed her, and everything changed.

It had been a mistake to go to that stupid costume party in his stupid mask. That was the night his deception took a decidedly malicious turn. It could no longer be a misunderstanding when he showed up dressed as Kylo Ren – without telling her that he _was_ Kylo Ren. It could no longer be impersonal, something beyond her concern, when he was wiping tears off her cheeks and promising her that he would wait for her.

After that, Ben’s fantasies changed. The details grew murkier. Less realistic.

He would bring her to his penthouse and break the news while she was flush with awe at his wealth. Never mind that Rey told him once she believes money eats up a person’s soul.

He would buy her a plane ticket to join him at his next filming location, and she would be so overcome with joy at the opportunity to travel that she wouldn’t have time to be upset. Never mind that Rey just opened her own clinic here in California, with clients that depend on her. Never mind that she has a life here, her friends more of a family than Ben has ever had in his parents and uncle.

In all the ways he imagined this would go, Rey was never angry with him. Not really. Annoyed at first, perhaps. Shocked. But never angry.

Then again, Ben has never dreamed up a scenario quite like this.

The dinner drags on for an eternity. From his table, Ben endures an unending stream of admirers while his mind churns restlessly with thoughts of Rey. Some of the guests are less conspicuous, simple craning their necks as they pass to get a glimpse of him. Most don’t bother to disguise their curiosity, coming right up to the table to shake his hand or ask for an autograph. Ben’s stone-faced indifference is the only thing that contains his aching, bottomless need to jump up and find his lovely girl.

 _My son loves Kylo Ren,_ he hears at least a dozen times. _Long live the Supreme Leader._ He pulls his lips tight over his teeth for selfie after selfie.

Like a caged animal in a zoo.

And Snoke is his zookeeper. From the other end of the table, his gaze is like a heavy chain, keeping him trapped in his seat. And Ben – Ben doesn’t seek her across the room, doesn’t let his eyes wander farther than the plate in front of him. He doesn’t do anything but sit there, trying to feign his usual degree of impatience.

“You’re not very talkative."

Examining her long nails, Netal doesn’t bother to glance up at him as she speaks. It takes Ben a moment to realize she’s speaking to him at all.

“Perhaps you’re not very interesting."

Netal laughs openly. “So the rumors are true. You _are_ an asshole.”

“I am.”

“You could have fooled me up there with that little dog and pony show.”

“I fool a lot of people.”

On his plate, his veal is growing cold. It doesn’t matter. Ben has no appetite. He’s not sure he’ll ever have an appetite again, after watching Rey’s heart shatter in real time, standing right in front of him. Watching the light drain from her eyes while he struggled to stay still, to stay _calm_ – to reveal nothing. With Snoke standing beside him, there was nothing else he _could_ do.

She had been close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough for him to simply raise his arms and pull her into them, tuck her soft body into his chest and never let go.

Ben has spent hundreds of hours staring down the black hole of a camera lens – has contorted his facial muscles into a representation of every emotion under the sun. On the day his father died, Ben Solo stood on a set in Seville and made himself laugh, again and again, until Snoke decided the scene was just right.

Ben is an actor — but he has never found anything so difficult as looking into Rey’s face, into the eyes of the woman who has brought new purpose to this miserable life, and pretend he does not recognize her.

After dinner, the band strikes an upbeat tune and guests begin rising from the tables. Ben pointedly does not look at Netal, who sighs heavily every few minutes beside him. And he definitely does not look across the room, where Rey is still sitting with his blasted uncle. Her food untouched.

A gnarled, wrinkled hand passes across his back, startling Ben, who definitely is not looking at Rey. He didn’t notice Snoke stand, but somehow the old man is here now, hovering over his shoulder and smirking. The skin at the back of Ben’s neck crawls.

“Excellent job tonight, Benjamin,” Snoke murmurs. “I must take my leave, but I expect you will continue to enjoy the festivities until the evening is through.”

When the old man turns to Netal, she beams up at him, like someone has flipped a switch within her. Snoke takes her hand and kisses the knuckles with his lipless mouth. Ben’s stomach twists with revulsion.

“A pleasure as always, Ms. Netal.”

“And you, Mr. Snoke.”

As soon as he’s turned his back, the smile drops from her face. “Creepy old bugger,” she mutters for Ben’s benefit.

Despite himself, Ben smiles. Perhaps she’s not so bad after all.

Now that Snoke has gone, nothing prevents Ben from staring openly across the room. Skywalker has abandoned her, it seems. No doubt he is off arguing with his mother about Snoke’s demands in exchange for the studio’s donation. Rey sits alone, picking at her food. She is the most beautiful thing Ben has ever seen, a yellow dress hanging delicately from her shoulders. He cannot see her face.

Ben needs to speak with her. To explain himself – even if he has no idea where he would start. His heart _burns_ with it.

“Where’d you meet her?”

He rips his gaze away from Rey’s table to see that Netal is studying him with open curiosity.

“Who?”

“The girl you’ve been staring at all night.” She tilts her head toward Rey’s table.

“I’m not staring.”

Netal gives him an incredulous look, and Ben sighs.

“She’s my… physical therapist.”

There is a beat of silence. Ben’s eyes drift back to Rey. He remembers what it was like to hold her in Maz’s diner and wishes they were there now, just the two of them. He longs to bury his face in her hair, to make her laugh until Ben’s whole body tingles with the warmth of it. He wonders if she’ll ever let him hear her laugh again.

“You fucking her?”

Ben doesn’t jump _completely_ out of his seat, but his knee still hits the bottom of the table, jolting the silverware. _”What?”_

“The girl,” she says with a secret smile. “Over there.”

“I _know_ who you’re – no. Absolutely not.” Ben’s voice is strained. “I’m her patient.”

“So you’re just in love with her, then.”

There is a ringing in Ben’s ears. The world seems to tilt, and across the room, Rey is the only thing that stays still. Solid.

Ben swallows, his throat tight. “Snoke doesn’t know.”

“Snoke is a shrivelly old prick.” She rolls her eyes at him. “And he’s not here anymore, is he?”

Blinking, Ben looks back at her. The smile on Netal’s face is knowing. Sly.

“You don’t have to keep pretending you want to sit around here with me, Solo. Go apologize to your girlfriend. If you ever want to talk to her again.”

Ben does jump up from the table then, so quickly that a jolt of pain streaks up his broken leg. He doesn’t care. She’s right, of course. Ben wants very much to talk to Rey again. With single-minded purpose, he begins moving across the room, pointedly ignoring any poorly disguised attempts to initiate conversation along the way.

He wants to talk to Rey every day for the rest of his life.

As if she can sense this thought, Rey’s head snaps up. Their eyes find each other from across the room, and this time, Ben doesn’t look away. Her steely expression is beginning to crumble, cracks running down the middle.

But before he can read the emotion that is slipping through the fissures of her indifference, his mother steps directly into his path.

“Benjamin Solo.” Leia Organa is _seething._ “We need to talk.”

“Not now.” Ben attempts to move past her, but she sidesteps, blocking his way.

“Under no circumstances will Beck Hospital be renaming our cardiac center,” she goes on, as if he hadn't spoken. “There is a protocol to follow – we have a board to consult. You must find your employer right now and tell him it’s not going to happen.”

“You tell him. He’s left already.” With growing impatience, Ben tries to force his way past her, brushing along her side – but he only takes a step before she grabs the sleeve of his jacket and whirls him around.

“A dedication was _not_ part of the agreement.”

“Then return the donation.” Ben rounds on her. The nape of his neck prickles under the heavy stares of the other guests, but he finds he doesn’t give a shit. “You’re happy to accept his money but you won’t put his name on the damn building?”

“You know why I can’t do that.” And god damnit, now Leia’s eyes are filling with _tears._

With great effort, Ben tries to make his voice as even as possible. “You’re making a scene, mother. We can talk about this later.” Distracted, he glances over his shoulder – and freezes.

Rey’s seat is empty.

Cold panic crashes over him. Yanking his arm from his mother’s grasp, he looks frantically around the room, searching among glitter and silk for –

 _There._ The back of Rey’s yellow dress is moving toward the edge of the ballroom. He only catches a glimpse of her – his heart throbs pathetically at the sight – before she vanishes into the courtyard beyond, the night dark and deep past the exposed wall.

Ignoring Leia’s protests, Ben shakes off her attempts to halt him and crosses the hall as quickly as his left leg will allow. When he reaches its edge, the cool night air meets his face like a kiss. It promises sweet respite from the long evening’s claustrophobic press of elbows and sweaty palms, the too-loud screech of trumpets from the over-enthusiastic band.

Out in the darkness, small groups of guests still mingle, clutching cocktails to their chests amidst murmured conversation. A cursory glance around the courtyard reveals no trace of her, but Ben keeps moving forward.

He knows exactly where she’s gone, drawn down the path by the flowers and the heavy leaves. It will be the same place Ben spent so many nights as a young boy, curled up and staring at the stars, imagining in vivid detail how he wanted his life to be.

For the first time in his thirty-one years, Ben feels like he finally knows.

He just hopes he isn't too late. 

* * *

The noises of the party are far away here. Palm trees whisper overhead, wide leaves black against the starry sky. In the center of the clearing, the fountain gurgles its steady stream, the sound soothing against his frayed nerves.

If he were still a child, this place would have instantly put him at ease. But that seems like a lifetime ago. Before his parents cast him out like he was something broken, hoping the red-faced abuse of the drill instructors would mold him into the perfect son. Before he learned that some demons will follow him no matter how far he hides – whether it’s beneath the shivering bushes along his mother’s fountain or across two thousand miles of black ocean.

Before Rey.

She is perched on its marble lip, her back to him. Ben is struck by the same funny, off-kilter sensation that hit him upon seeing her at that grungy bar, wearing Kira’s clothes. Like he has stumbled into a room he’s seen a thousand times before – but has been made completely new and strange by her presence.

“Rey.”

It feels like an intrusion, the sound of his voice in this peaceful place. Her head whips around, a deer in headlights. Ben’s heart twists when he notices her eyes are red at the corners.

And then they narrow. “Sorry,” she says coolly. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

The moonlight makes strange patterns across his face as he moves into the clearing, shadows filtering through the palms. “Rey, I –“

“Oh, wait – yes, _that’s_ right.“ A bitter laugh bubbles wetly from her chest. “You’re the stagehand, yeah? Tripped on a prop and broke his leg? The sad, lonely fellow with no one to see him on his birthday?”

But that’s wrong – he _did_ have someone. She had filled a room with balloons for him, her face pink from the effort.

She is sitting right in front of him.

“It’s that look, right there - the pathetic puppy dog routine. Not very convincing.” She sounds so derisive. So unlike herself. “You might want to work on that - for your next movie, obviously.”

“Rey…” He’s standing right in front of her now, and he can’t think of anything to say except her name. So his hand reaches out instead, without his permission, and brushes the bare skin of her shoulder.

Her reaction is immediate. She jerks violently away from him, so quickly he worries she will fall backward into the water – before she flies to her feet, scowling. _“Don’t touch me.”_

Ben flinches. “Rey, please -”

“Oh, you remember who I am now, do you?” Her face is wild in her fury. Frightening. “Convenient, now that your girlfriend isn’t around.”

“My – who? You mean _Netal?”_ The thought would be amusing if he didn’t feel like he was drowning. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

The laugh that comes out of her is harsh, shards of broken glass that squeeze into his heart. “Then what is she?”

“She’s my _co-star,_ Rey – I hadn’t even met her before today. They just cast her this month. For my next film.”

“Oh – yes, that’s right. You’ll have to excuse me – I keep forgetting that I'm talking to a  _movie star.”_

Ben has never seen her like this. Not even that day in her office, where she insisted through tears that they could no longer see each other. Rey’s face is full of just as much emotion now – but it is fury snapping in her eyes like fire this time. Betrayal.

His throat feels tight. “I was going to tell you.”

“Were you?” Rey is laughing again, humorless and terrible. “And when exactly were you planning to do that? After you finally convinced me to go back to your flat? After you fucked me?”

“I wouldn’t have –” Ben’s voice is so rough. Unsteady. “I wouldn’t have done that before I told you.”

“Like hell you would have.” Even in the dark, he can see the way her cheeks are shiny with tears. “We’ve both known where this has been going. What a fun game this must have been for you. Find the last person on earth who doesn’t know what a public _asshole_ you are – then fuck her before she realizes what’s going on.”

“It’s not like that,” Ben rasps, and his hands are _aching_ with his need to touch her. To wipe her eyes. “It was never like that. I knew from the day I met you –”

“You fed me this bullshit already, Solo,” she cuts him off. “Don’t you remember? Did you use that line on your other girlfriend, too? Or just the ones that don’t know who you are?”

“Fuck, Rey, she is _not_ my girlfriend!”

“Then why did you pretend you didn’t know me?” Something in her voice breaks with these words. She is suddenly trembling. Vulnerable. “Are you – are you so ashamed of me? Is that it?”

For the first time, Ben gets a glimpse of the grief that lurks behind her rage, the enormous sorrow he has caused her. He feels it as if it were his own – because it is. He looks at his beautiful girl, eyes shining with anguish, and Ben has never hated himself more. She looks so small and uncertain in her yellow dress. She'd worn makeup, he notices – only because it's streaming down her cheeks now, smudged charcoal under her eyes.

“I could never," he says, choking up. "I feel –  _so_ many things for you, Rey. Shame could never be one of them.”

“See, this is exactly what I mean.” Her voice hitches, thick with tears. “This is what it’s been like all along. I ask you a question, and you try to make me feel things so that I don’t notice you’re not actually _saying_ anything.”

“It’s the truth.”

_“It’s still not an answer!”_

Ben’s throat feels so tight. Too tight for all the things he wants to tell her. “My life is – complicated, Rey. You’re the first thing that’s ever happened to me that’s been… so, so simple.”

 _“Simple?”_ Rey looks as though he just struck her across the face. “Oh, yes – I must have been so _fascinating_ to you – my simple life with my simple problems – worrying over silly things like _money_ and _paying the bills_ –”

“Fucking – _no,_ that’s not what I meant –” Ben is towering over her, heartbeat loud in his ears. He balls his fists tightly at his sides to keep them from seizing her shoulders. “It’s simple because nothing has ever been more clear to me. I think about you constantly, Rey. All the fucking time. It doesn’t matter where I am, or what I’m doing – I’d rather be doing it with you. I’ve never known what I wanted until you came along. Everything about my life is complicated – but when you look at me, the rest of it is just noise. None of it matters. None of it’s real. Just you.”

“You’re wrong, Ben.” Tears are streaming openly down her face. “Nothing about this is real. This is all just – some insane little fantasy you’ve built for yourself. And you’ve dragged me into it with you.”

“No,” he tries to say, but his voice breaks on the word. His face is wet, the night air cool on his cheeks.

She doesn’t hear him. “That back there – _that’s_ your life.” With shaking fingers, Rey gestures past him toward his childhood home, where the hum of his mother’s party lingers in the distance. “Your girlfriend. Your mother. Your boss. If I had any place in it, you wouldn’t have needed to lie to me. You wouldn’t have pretended that you – that you didn’t even _know_ me.”

“I had to,” Ben rasps out. “Please, Rey, you don’t understand.”

“Why would I understand?” God help him, she’s staring at him like she hates him. _Loathes_ him. “Why would I believe anything you say? You haven’t told me a single honest thing about yourself.”

His fingers flex uselessly at his sides, yearning to touch her, and he makes a decision. “All right,” he says, voice soft. “All right, Rey. I’ll tell you.”

And once he starts talking, it’s as though he is unable to stop.

“My name is Benjamin Solo. I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve starred in four terrible action movies that I can’t bring myself to actually watch. I’m contracted for three more. My grandfather was a war criminal. His former business partner is my producer. I hate fish. I’ve never had anything that remotely resembles a relationship. When my father had his heart attack, I didn’t call my mother for three months. Snoke wouldn’t allow me to go to the funeral. I almost beat a man to death while I was in the Air Force. Snoke is the only reason I’m not in prison for it. He’s a sadistic old fuck and would destroy your life if he learned anything about you. I believe he broke my leg on purpose. But it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.” He takes a deep, ragged breath. “I was in three soap commercials when I was thirteen. The only plant I’ve ever owned was a cactus. It died after four weeks. And I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Rey’s eyes are very wide in the moonlight. He is close enough to discern the freckles sprinkled across her nose. He wonders what she would do if he closed the few inches between them. If she would let him kiss her until she please, _please_ stopped crying.

“I don’t know how you thought this would end,” Rey whispers, with a tearful shake of her head. “I don’t belong here, Ben. That’s the real reason you didn’t tell me. Even if you weren’t my patient. You’re _Kylo Ren,_ and I’m… I’m me. This would never work.”

He wonders if this is what it feels like to be dying. If in his final moments, Han Solo’s heart twisted with a pain so great that it could no longer continue its struggle before it gave up altogether.

“We’ll finish the final weeks of your sessions. And then I don’t want to see you again.”

But somehow, Ben’s foolish, broken heart goes on beating, even when she pulls from his grasping fingers and walks away.

Even when she leaves him.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. He is afraid to move, afraid his body will completely fall apart around him like ash. For an eternity, he remains there. Praying she’ll come back.

She doesn’t.

There is numbness. Grief. Then violent, all-consuming rage.

A huge _crack_  splits the air _,_ and the stone bench breaks in two over the fountain, hurled over his head. Blinding pain slices up his leg, but Ben doesn’t care. Water pours out across the grass, the marble lip shattered.

With shaking fingers, he pulls out his phone. Finds Hux’s contact. Fuck these movies. _F_ _uck_ Snoke. If Rey doesn’t want to be with Kylo Ren, then he won’t be Kylo Ren anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so emotionally exhausting to write. I've been working feverishly on this since I last posted. I haven't even gotten around to answer any of your amazing comments, but I figured you'd rather have a faster update than comment replies. Please know how much your words of encouragement and support have meant to me. I am beyond humbled that so many people are invested in this story and these characters.
> 
> I know I promised I would fix it and I will. So soon. Thank you for sticking with me, everyone.


	13. Chapter 13

Ben is limping today, but he doesn't feel the pain.

Then again, he hasn't felt much of anything for the past twelve hours beyond fiery, blinding rage.

He doesn’t remember getting in his car or the long drive to the studio. All he knows is that – when his feet carry him through the unseasonably chilly morning to the back entrance – the door does not open for him.

Ben shoves his key card against the reader. Nothing. Forcing an exhale through his nose, he waits with roiling impatience as it resets. His fingers are steadier this time as he presses the card in its place.

The red light flashes in response. Taunting him.

Another fucking denial.

Ben's vision is starting to bleed scarlet around the edges, not unlike the color of the light flashing back at him from the card reader. His fist comes down so hard on the glass door it rattles in the frame.

 _“Open – this – door – right – now!”_ he roars, pounding furiously _._ "Do you hear me -?! _Open this goddamn door!_ This is Ben _fucking_ Solo and I will rip this thing off its fucking _hinges_ if someone doesn’t –“

The light glows green, and suddenly a small man appears, dressed in a uniform. _Security._ He isn’t much shorter than Ben, but he is practically cowering at the sight of him. “I – I’m sorry, but I’m on strict orders not to allow anyone inside –”

Muscling his way through the door, Ben lifts the man clear off the ground, clutching fistfuls of his oversized jacket and slamming him against the wall. _“Do you know who the fuck I am?”_

“Of - of course I do, Mr. Solo, gosh, who _doesn’t_ know who you are -?”

This only further inflames Ben’s anger. He is _enraged._ He has never felt fury like this in all his life. “Then you know I’m allowed to come and go as I _damn well please.”_

“Please, sir.” The man has turned bright red, sweat beading his brow as he struggles weakly in Ben’s grip. “I have strict orders – I’ll have to call the police –“

“Solo, _what the fuck –?!”_

Ben releases his grip and the security guard crumples to the ground, gasping and shaking. Conveniently, Hux has materialized at the end of the hall. Outrage contorts his weaselly little face as he strides toward them. “I already told you. Mr. Snoke will not be taking visitors today.”

Yes, Hux had told him as much in a coldly perfunctory email – and then proceeded to ignore Ben’s dozen other text messages and phone calls, well into the early hours of the morning. Ben rounds on the smaller man, snarling. “I’m not a fucking visitor. Now let me through.”

“See, this has always been your problem.” Hux doesn’t stop until they’re barely a few inches apart, his pointy little face turned upward to glare at him. “Entitled Ben Solo. Thinks he lives outside the rules that govern the rest of us. Allow me to be the one to deliver you a cruel dose of reality. You are _worthless_ without this studio, Solo, and that means you must abide by its rules like everyone else.”

 _“Here’s_ the reality, asshole.” Ben crowds him, his voice dropping dangerously low. “The only thing that has gotten this studio through the last six summers are _my fucking films._ I own every single one of you.”

 _“Andrew Snoke_ owns you,” he hisses. “He owns Kylo Ren, and he owns Ben Solo. You are nothing more than a glorified circus monkey. You jump when he tells you, you shit when he tells you, and when he tells you to bend over, you drop your pants and –“

There is a sickening _crunch_ as Ben’s knuckles connect solidly with Hux’s nose. It might be the most satisfying noise he’s ever heard – followed closely by the strangled scream Hux produces as he clutches at his bleeding face.

 _Snoke won’t be happy,_ he thinks distantly. And then: _Who gives a fuck?_

The pathetic sounds of Hux’s sniffling fill the corridor as Ben slams the elevator button. The floor numbers tick downward with agonizing slowness.

“You’ll regret this, Solo,” Hux moans as the doors slide open.

Ben’s jaw twitches. Until last night, he hasn’t regretted anything he’s done in his life. And breaking Hux’s nose for a second time certainly has not changed that.

The top floor of First Order is almost completely devoid of life on the weekends. Ben doesn’t think he should count the old, soulless man barricaded in his office. Briefly, his mind provides him with the image of a much younger Ben Solo running through the empty halls some far-away Sunday morning, Snoke’s watchful eye twinkling as Ben peppers him with questions.

_You have to work hard if you want to get anywhere in this business, child. Sometimes that means doing things you don’t want to do._

With a loud _slam,_ Ben shoves the doors violently open.

Behind his desk, Snoke is leafing through a stack of papers. He hardly glances up at Ben’s entrance, though his mouth does tighten into a thin line.

 _Fuck that,_ Ben thinks. He won’t be fidgeting nervously at the back of the room today, waiting for Snoke to decide him worthy of his attention.

It takes four strides for him to cross the office. With a sweep of the arm, Ben thrusts everything clean off the surface of his polished mahogany desk.

“I’m done.” The words seem to tumble out of him, as though they’ve been waiting on the tip of his tongue since his decision the night before. “I quit.”

Slowly, Snoke raises his eyes. When they reach Ben’s face, he is distressed to find that they hold no trace of anger. Rather, they are flashing with smug amusement. He doesn’t seem at all fazed by Ben’s entrance – or his declaration.

“Very dramatic,” Snoke drawls. “Sometimes I forget why I gifted you this role, and then you remind me. Such a spectacular temper.”

“Not my role anymore,” Ben says, leaning close into the man’s personal space. “You won’t need to spare any more of your generosity on me.”

A dark chuckle. “Come now, we both know why that’s not possible. Why don’t we try this again? Come back into my office like a big boy, sit down in that chair and we can discuss this like adults.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Ben snaps. “I’m quitting.”

“You have a contract, Benjamin.”

“I’ll break it.”

“With what attorneys? The ones employed by the First Order?”

“I’ll get my own fucking attorney.”

This makes Snoke laugh openly. “There’s not a lawyer in this town who will take you, once I put the word out.”

“Then I’ll pay whatever fees you’ve hidden in there for breaking it. I don’t give a shit. I’m _done.”_

Snoke leans back, shaking his head with something infuriatingly close to pity. “Is this about Leia Organa? The hospital donation?”

“It’s about _you_ ,” Ben hisses. “I’m finished with you _,_ Snoke. With your mind games, your loyalty tests. With having to report every _fucking_ decision I make for your approval. I should have done this – years ago, but I was a coward. Just the way you wanted me. Not anymore. My life is mine, and I’m taking it back. I’m done.”

“Oh, Benjamin…” Snoke still looks so disappointed. It makes his stomach turn. “Everything you have belongs to me. It always has.”

“Not anymore. I see you for what you really are now. A sick, greedy old man.”

Ben has been waiting to tell him these things for years, but none of it seems to be having its intended effect. Snoke just continues to frown at him. Like Ben is an unruly child throwing a temper tantrum. “Don’t make me do something that will upset you,” he murmurs. “I do _so_ hate seeing you upset.”

“There’s nothing else you can do to me,” Ben snarls, “nothing else you can take away – you’ve stolen it all, Snoke. There isn’t anything for you to hang over my head anymore.”

Snoke’s face is unreadable as he studies him, steepling his fingers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Rey’s tear-streaked face rises in Ben’s memory, her eyes full of betrayal and loathing before she turned away from him. “Believe me,” Ben snaps. “I am.” He is surprised to hear his voice wavering. With a loud _smack_ , he slams down an envelope on the desktop. “My letter of resignation.”

To his frustration, Snoke gives another dark laugh. “You wrote a letter? Very sweet.”

“Attempt to contact me in any way and I’ll have you charged with harassment.”

“Oh, I’m _sure_ you will.”

Ben turns to leave, ignoring the cold laughter that follows him. He nearly makes it to the door before Snoke’s voice calls out again, all traces of amusement gone.

“Shooting begins in two weeks, Solo. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I’ve always disappointed you.” Ben doesn’t look back as he opens the door. “Goodbye, Snoke.”

* * *

 

Many minutes pass before Snoke’s door opens again, admitting one rather disheveled Armitage Hux. The red-headed man is pressing a bloodied cloth to his face.

Snoke has been gazing thoughtfully at the place where Ben Solo had been standing a few minutes ago – but at Hux’s entrance, he frowns.

“Pick up my papers, Armitage. Solo had another tantrum.”

He watches with disdain as his assistant hurries to gather the scattered contents of his desk, strewn about the floor. Clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

“We’re losing control of the boy.”

Hux sets the last of the wayward papers back in their place. “I believe it may be time, sir.”

From the bottom drawer of his desk, Snoke produces a manilla folder. Dozens of photographs spill out across the mahogany surface. “You would be correct.” Long fingers leaf through the images as he frowns, considering. “Our Benjamin won’t be going anywhere.”

* * *

“So let me get this straight.” Finn closes another drawer in his dresser, the contents of which he is currently emptying into a pile on the carpet, directly in front of Rey. “The creepy dude from the bar – your patient – is actually Luke’s nephew?”

“That’s not even the half of it.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Rey holds up another crumpled t-shirt, frowning. “Look, wouldn’t it be easier to just – I dunno – _fold_ your clothes?”

“Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good dryer? It takes the wrinkles right out.”

“Because when you go on holiday you wouldn’t need to fold every single piece of clothing in your wardrobe.”

“My mom has a dryer too, you know. I could just shove everything in the suitcase and deal with it when I get there.”

“It’ll never fit that way.” Rey is good at squeezing things into tiny bags – her childhood a blur of moving trucks as Plutt got evicted from one flat, then another. Privately, she wonders what it’s like to not cherish every little thing that belongs to you. To treat all your possessions with anything but the utmost care, because you’ve never had to worry about your ability to replace it.

“So what’s the other half of it, then?” Finn asks, yanking her from her thoughts. “With the creepy dude from the bar.”

Placing another shirt in the open suitcase, Rey huffs out an irritated sigh. “He’s got a name, you know. It’s Ben, and he’s not _that_ creepy.”

“Wait.” Finn sweeps the contents of another drawer into his arms. “His name really _was_ Ben?”

“Well, yeah. Actually. That’s kind of the thing.” Despite everything, Rey’s heart flips over in her chest. “His name is Ben Solo.”

Finn’s armful of clothing makes a loud _thump_ as it tumbles to the ground. He gapes down at her. “You’re kidding.”

Rey gives a bitter laugh. “I wish I was.”

“Woah. Wait a second.” Finn levels her with a wide-eyed expression of disbelief. “Are you trying to say you’ve had Kylo Ren –  _the_ Kylo Ren – as your patient for the past… what has it been now? A month? And you _didn’t tell me?!”_

“Like I knew!” Rey’s face is growing warm. “I had no clue who the hell he was.”

“Are you kidding me? He lied about his name?”

“Well – no…” She worries at her lip, glancing away. “He just... didn’t tell me he was famous.”

“Rey.” Finn crouches down, elbows on his knees, to look her in the eye. “How could you not know Ben Solo was famous?”

“I don’t watch those stupid movies!”

“But – Peanut, his face is _everywhere._ He’s basically the biggest asshole in Hollywood.”

“Believe me, I figured that out all by myself.” Hot tears are swelling in her eyes now, entirely without her permission. Finn’s face falls at the sight of them.

“Oh, shit. Fuck, Rey, what did he do? Did he take advantage of you? Because I swear to god –“

“No, no – it wasn’t like that.” Rey wipes furiously at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “We were… seeing each other. Outside of sessions. But it didn’t get that far.”

“You and Kylo Ren. Seeing each other. Jesus Christ.” Finn sits back on his heels, cheeks puffing as he blows out a long stream of air. “I mean, he’s hot as hell, but everyone knows what a nightmare that guy can be. It’s no wonder he didn’t want to tell you who he was.”

Rey finds herself shaking her head, chest twisting tight. “He’s not a nightmare. He’s... never been anything but kind to me, really. Exceedingly kind.”

“As long as you ignore the part where he pretended to be someone else.”

“He didn’t, though.” Rey shakes her head tightly, eyes still wet. “He just… let me believe he was a normal person. Like – like the way he showed up in his stupid mask at that party, without bothering to inform anyone he was actually the _real thing –”_

“Wait a second – are you saying you think that was his _real mask?”_

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Sorry – sorry – this is just… a lot to take in.” Finn is still shaking his head, looking stunned. “How did you find out?”

“At Luke’s sister’s party,” Rey says, sniffing. “He was giving a speech. With his new – co-star, or whatever.” Acid rises in her mouth. “He… pretended not to know me afterward.”

_”What the fuck?”_

“He said it was because of his boss. I don’t really know what to make of that part.”

“His boss? You mean Snoke?”

Rey blinks. “You’ve heard of him?”

Finn’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Christ, Peanut. Sometimes I wonder if you live under a rock. _Everyone’s_ heard of him. Andrew Snoke is an even bigger sack of dicks than Kylo Ren. He was involved in a ton of shady shit back in the ‘90s.”

“Right.” Rey vaguely remembers something about a Hollywood executive scandal during that time. “But what would that have anything to do with me?”

“It doesn’t,” Finn says, voice firm. “Fuck that guy. He probably fell madly in love with you, but knew that such a pure and perfect ball of sunshine would never want anything to do with his miserable self.”

This draws a weak laugh out of her, even as her gut twists uncomfortably at the truth in his words. “He’s not that miserable. Not at all, really. That’s the worst part of it, Finn. I was... really starting to like him.”

“Well, he certainly liked you,” Finn mutters. “The way he was acting at that party – like he was completely obsessed. It was creeping me the fuck out.”

Rey blinks. “What?”

“Come on. You must have noticed. There was a moment when I hugged you... I thought he was actually going to take a swing at me. And  – god, he wouldn’t stop _staring_ at you. Even with that mask, you could tell.”

A sharp, painful image of Ben’s face, flushed and wild after Rey had pushed the helmet from his head, flashes through her mind like electricity. She smothers it quickly.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” she says, trying to sound firm. “I told him I’m not going to see him again after we’re done with our sessions.”

“Are you crazy? You’re still finishing the sessions?”

“I made a commitment, Finn. I don’t break my commitments.”

Finn leans back, awe written across his face. “This world doesn’t deserve you, Peanut. And neither does Ben Solo.”

* * *

When Ben steps out of his car Wednesday, he is not wearing a hood. His sunglasses are back at home, abandoned on his kitchen counter. The late November sky is full of clouds, so he decided this morning – on a rather fantastical whim – that he doesn’t need them.

His face is exposed for all the world to see. He feels… free. Like he is twenty pounds lighter. It may be true that his future has never held more uncertainty – but today, Ben’s restless mind has fallen into something quiet. Something calm.

Ben feels calmer today than he’s been in many years.

Even if he has fucked this up beyond repair - even if he’s lost her forever – he is finally free to make his own choices.

Rey is sitting at her desk when he enters her office. Still squinting at her laptop, she clearly hasn’t noticed him yet. Ben takes the opportunity to consider how radiant she is. In a flowing yellow dress, or in leggings and an oversized tank-top, it doesn’t make a difference – to him, she is always so beautiful.

Rey glances up, and Ben’s heart throbs pathetically in response. A number of emotions flicker across her face in rapid succession before her eyes alight on his hands, where he’s clutching two cups of coffee.

“I can’t accept that.” Her voice is very soft. Empty of emotion.

“Ah. Right.” Taking a few steps forward, Ben sets it awkwardly on the edge of her desk. “I suppose no one would know if I forgot it here.”

Her mouth tightens. Pushing herself away from her desk, Rey walks stiffly into the practice room, not looking over her shoulder to see if he’s going after her.

After a long, shaky breath, Ben follows.

* * *

She’s not sure how it happened, but Solo’s leg has somehow gotten worse in the four days since she last saw him.

When Rey asks if he remembers doing anything that would aggravate the injury, he won’t even look her in the eye. “Not that I can recall.”

“I thought we were done with lying to each other.”

The words are out before she fully realizes what she’s saying. Ben seems equally surprised; his eyes flick up to meet hers, and the openness there takes all the breath from her lungs. She cannot bear to turn away. For a few long, terrifying beats of silence, Rey is sure that he can see everything, all of it laid completely bare: her fears, her grief, her anger - her helpless, impossible affection. Her love.

“Rey…”

“Forget it,” she says quickly, turning away. “We’re not talking about it.” With shaking hands, she tries to find something to busy herself with. It takes a great deal of effort to ignore the heavy weight of his gaze on her back, but she manages.

If this is how he wants to play, she is going to work him to the bone.

Rey makes it her priority to push him harder than she’s ever pushed him before. Solo meets her gamely at every step, never breathing a word of complaint. He is so compliant that it comes as a surprise when, during his tenth set of kneeling leg lifts, a sweat breaks out across his brow.

Quickly, Rey moves him along to the next set of exercises. The thought of making Ben sweat leads her mind to places she’s not prepared to go today.

Ben is – unexpectedly helpful, in this regard. He doesn’t attempt to strike up any conversation beyond polite requests for assistance or for clarification on his form. It shouldn’t surprise her that he still stares when he thinks she’s not looking. His heart is cracked wide open across his face in those moments, and the only thing that stops Rey from marching over and kissing his stupid, horrible mouth is summoning the memory of her righteous fury. Her betrayal.

It’s not difficult.

She’s spent the better half of a week preparing for this, after all. Reliving the long agony of that phony speech. Remembering the way his eyes widened with recognition. The way his mouth moved so easily around the words that had reduced her to a stranger.

It’s a relief, Rey tells herself, that he isn’t trying to talk about it. She’s glad he didn’t burst in her office and fall to his knees, begging for her forgiveness. Rey made very clear that night how she wanted to proceed with their relationship. He’s only respecting her wishes.

So why is she disappointed that he isn’t trying harder?

“I found your Wikipedia page.”

Rey says it casually, like they’re discussing the weather. She’s not sure why she chooses to tell him this. Ben, who is halfway through a crunch, pauses at his knees with his hands behind his head.

“I didn’t know I had one.”

“I just skimmed through it,” she says, trying to sound flippant. Like she hadn’t spent the entire night spiraling down a tequila-fueled rabbit hole of YouTube interviews and blogs dedicated to Kylo Ren gifs.

“Well, they’ll have to change it soon.” Ben resumes his crunches, staring fixedly at the ceiling. “I quit my job.”

Rey forgets how to breathe. “What?”

“On Sunday. I gave Snoke my letter of resignation.” He still isn’t looking at her, focused on the exercise. “I’m done.”

“Ben, what the _fuck?”_ Forgetting herself, Rey grasps his bicep to halt him. It works. He immediately turns to look at her, brow furrowing. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t just quit your job.”

“I can. I did. I’m done, Rey.”

“Don’t you have, like – a contract, or something?”

Irritation flashes across his face. “Everyone always wants to talk about my damn contract. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m done.”

Rey is pretty sure that’s not how contracts work, but that’s beside the point. Her mind is flying a hundred miles a minute as it processes what he must be trying to do here. The closer she gets to the likely conclusion, the more she is filled with outrage.

“What exactly are you playing at here, Solo?” Rey’s fingers are starting to shake with anger. “Is this supposed to be some kind of… grand romantic gesture, on your part? Am I supposed to magically forget that you’ve been lying to me for the past four weeks? That I would still think you were a bloody _stagehand_ if it weren’t for the complete accident that I ended up at your mother’s party?”

“No, _no_ – Jesus, Rey, of course not.” He at least has the courtesy to look sheepish. He seems nothing like the man Rey saw on stage last weekend, so composed and easy before the crowd. Here, he almost looks helpless. Lost.

“Snoke has made me do… terrible things,” he says quietly. _“Inexcusable_ things. I’ve spent most of my life trying to justify all the ways he’s made me hurt people. And then you came along, and I realized that there is no justification. I can tell myself whatever I want. But the choice is still mine.”

Moving his legs over the exam table, he turns to face her as he has so many times before. In his eyes, Rey can feel the weight of his suffering. His bottomless regret. “I don’t want to make the wrong choices anymore, Rey.”

Distantly, Rey feels wetness pool at the corners of her eyes, as though they belong to someone else. “I’m afraid that ship has already sailed.”

“I understand.” Ben’s voice is unsteady. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. We were on our way to finding something… really good together. And I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for fucking that up. For making you think that – for even a second – you were anything less than the world to me.”

Rey closes her eyes. She can’t look at him.

“I will always be grateful that I met you, Rey. Whatever you may think of me… I’m a better person for having known you.”

Her mind is a storm of churning emotion. She doesn’t know what to say. What to think. So she doesn’t. Unable to stay away from him any longer, Rey climbs up onto the exam table and sits tentatively beside him.

Slowly – very slowly – she rests her forehead on his shoulder.

Ben’s shirt smells like fresh soap and sweat. In another life, Rey might already know this scent intimately – might be falling asleep surrounded by it every night.

They sit this way for what seems like an eternity. The only place they touch is where Rey’s face is pressed so gently against his shoulder. She can see his fingers flexing next to his thighs, as though containing the desire to reach back out to her.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

There is a long pause. Rey breathes in the scent of his soap. His regret.

“I hope it all works out for you, Ben. Really.”

His shoulder tenses under her face as he swallows. Briefly, she feels the roughness of his stubble on her forehead as he gently rests his chin atop her head. “Me too.”

Closing her eyes, Rey unclenches her fist and lets her fingers brush across Ben Solo’s knuckles one last time.

* * *

Thanksgiving would be an uncomfortable holiday for Rey even if it weren’t a purely American invention.

As a rule, Rey dislikes holidays in general. They remind her of too many nights alone as a child, thinking about other people’s family celebrations and imagining what her own would be like. It wasn’t until she graduated college that Rey started coming to terms with the fact that she _has_ no family to imagine.

Holidays are for other people. Her fantasies of family meals are a patchwork of other people’s stories, of glimpses through dining room windows and cheesy Christmas movies. Even in such silly daydreams, she is intruding on other people’s happiness. A stranger to their shared joy and sense of belonging.

So when Finn calls her for the fourth time to make sure she doesn’t want to try the standby line at the airport, Rey is happy to say no.

“We’ll FaceTime,” she tells him. “As soon as you get there, give me a call.”

“Of course I will. Mom and Dad want to hear all about the clinic.” The chaos of LAX hums in the background. “Are you sure you don’t want to go by Maz’s? Or reach out to Luke? It’s not good to spend a holiday alone like this, Peanut.”

Rey frowns as she leafs through a beer-stained menu for the Chinese place on the corner. She does know one other person in Los Angeles who will be spending this Thanksgiving alone, but she still can’t decide if she would rather kiss him or throw him off a bridge.

“I’m sure,” she says finally. “General Tso and I are going to have a grand Thanksgiving feast together.”

When Finn joins the queue to board the plane, they say a hasty goodbye. Rey is left alone once more in the silence of her shitty flat.

She usually doesn’t mind the quiet, but today it is deafening. Grabbing the television remote, Rey flops onto the couch. She figures she might as well get a headstart with drunk-crying over the Hallmark channel’s early season specials while she’s waiting for the Chinese to arrive.

But when she switches on the set, her body is suddenly ready to cry for an entirely different reason.

Ben Solo’s face fills up the screen. It’s an old television – a hand-me-down from Luke, 44 inches of non-HD luxury. But Kylo Ren still looks larger than life. His mouth is trembling as he reaches across a burning room with a gloved hand. Eyes wide and desperate.

_“Please.”_

Two things are immediately clear to her. The first is that this is obviously the emotional climax of one of Kylo Ren’s stupid films, so she should stop watching before Finn yells at her for spoiling the ending.

The second is that Ben Solo is a very good actor. And yet… he is definitely still acting. Rey knows this, because she has seen what the real Ben looks like in his most vulnerable moments. She has seen the way his jaw twitches when he’s nervous. She’s seen his knuckles stretched white with guilt across a steering wheel as he recounts the death of his father. She has seen tears streak down his face as he grips her shoulders, two days without sleep, and kisses her.

 _Please,_ Ben says, reaching through the screen.

The man on the screen is acting, but Rey knows the real Ben Solo. She has seen him more deeply, more magnified than any audience that has watched his face fill a screen two hundred feet wide.

She has _seen_ him.

Rey yanks her laptop out of her bag and opens it right there on the couch.

 _You doing anything for the holiday?_ Ben had asked her yesterday on his way out.

 _I’m British,_ she’d replied, as though this made a difference for all the other holidays she spent alone. _How about you?_

Ben had huffed out a bitter laugh. _My mother and uncle aren’t talking to me again. Nothing new there._

The damn client management program always takes forever to load. But when it finally does, Ben Solo is the first entry on the list.

Patient 001. _505 Ocean Way, Santa Monica._

It’s too far away for her bike, but Rey can spare the money for a Lyft there. She’s pretty sure she’ll be able to figure out a ride home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the longest fic I've ever written without a single word of smut! That might be about to change. We'll see ;)
> 
> I was hoping to get this update posted sooner, but a lot needed to happen here. I hope it all made sense.
> 
> I am _still_ going through and responding to all your amazing comments from the last chapter. I can't thank you guys enough for all the support you've shown this story. I am blessed with the kindest most thoughtful readers, and hearing your thoughts makes this experience even more rewarding for me. It has certainly helped me power through the more personally challenging parts. Thank you.


	14. Chapter 14

“Could you not eat that in the car?”

Already halfway through her egg roll, Rey meets the driver’s gaze in his rear-view mirror and glares. At least, as much as she can with bits of Chinese cabbage falling out of her mouth.

“I eat when I’m stressed,” she says, and rips another bite of egg roll.

“And I drive badly when my car stinks.”

Rey checks her phone. Still no response to her message - just Phil with the Blue Prius, smiling up at her from the Lyft app. He is definitely not smiling now.

To distract herself from her brewing panic attack, she decides to extend an olive branch.

"Care for a fortune cookie?" The woman at the counter had given her at least a dozen. She had probably assumed Rey would not have purchased five bags of Chinese food for only two people.

“No. And if you open another package of food back there, I will actually end this ride.”

Oh well. Her passenger rating has been shit since last summer, when Finn threw up all over some college student’s back seat. _Darrell with the Silver Accord._ He hadn’t been smiling either.

Rey thinks she might be ready to throw up herself. She can’t remember the last time she was so anxious. _Maybe he doesn’t want to see you,_ she thinks. _Maybe he’s already blocked your number._

As stealthily as she can, Rey opens another package of egg rolls.

“Is this it?”

For a terrifying moment, Rey thinks that Phil with the Blue Prius is making good on his threat – and that she’ll have to find another driver willing to cart her ten pounds of Chinese food to Santa Monica. But Phil has parked in front of a sleek building, at least fifteen stories tall. _505 Ocean Way._

 _He lives here._ Ben Solo lives here. Stomach suddenly fluttering with nerves, Rey nods and tries to look like she’s been here a thousand times before.

“Obviously,” she says, cool as a cucumber. “Home sweet home.”

He gives her a look in the mirror, unimpressed. Rey is sure it can’t be more obvious how out of place she is. And not just because Phil picked her up in one of Los Angeles’s dodgier neighborhoods, clutching several bags of cheap Chinese food.

“Take your trash with you,” he calls after her as she climbs out of the car. Because it’s Thanksgiving, she leaves behind a handful of fortune cookies. She secretly hopes their fortunes are as miserable as he is.

The street is surprisingly quiet. Residential. When Rey thinks of Santa Monica, she thinks of the pier with its carnival games and squealing children. She hadn’t expected this laid back neighborhood, tucked away from the main road. There’s not much activity beyond the palm trees swaying along the sidewalk, the air full of salt and ocean.

Phil’s blue Prius is already speeding away when Rey realizes she has no idea how to get into Ben Solo’s building.

Arms full of bulging paper bags, Rey shuffles her way to the entrance. A key pad stares back at her, cryptic. There are no labels naming the residents within. No instructions.

Shifting the bags in her arms, Rey pulls out her phone. Her message to Ben dangles at the bottom of the screen, unanswered.

“Can I help you?”

A man in a suit has appeared at the doorway. He is very large. As his gaze sweeps over Rey with her many bags of food, his welcoming expression shifts into something more suspicious.

“Residents who order deliveries know to put in a notice with the desk.”

Rey scowls. “I’m not a delivery person. My friend lives here.”

“Really.”

“Yes. Maybe you could tell me his flat number. I’ve never actually – been to visit him.”

“Let me guess. You’re looking for Ben Solo.”

Rey blinks, startled. “Um – yes, actually. I am.”

The man gives a long-suffering sigh. “Listen, lady. I don’t know how you got this address. But only residents and their guests are permitted on the premises.”

“But I would be his guest,” she says. “You don’t understand. I’m his friend.”

He barks out a laugh. “I’ve been working this building for the past five years, sweetheart. Ben Solo doesn’t have any friends.”

Something about the derision in his tone rankles her. “He absolutely has friends. _I’m_ his friend.”

“You’re the third _friend_ who’s shown up here in the past month. Maybe you can all get together and find something to do that isn’t harassing your idol at his place of residence.”

“My idol?” Rey barely contains a laugh. "Okay, this is a big misunderstanding. I'll give him a call and we'll sort this out."

Her heart pounding, Rey opens Ben's contact - her last text to him still without answer - and then wedges her phone between shoulder and ear as it starts to ring.

And ring.

The man in his suit stares at her impatiently.

“Look, kid, I’ll cut you some slack because it’s Thanksgiving,” he starts to say. “But if you’re not off this property in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to have to call the –“

“Rey?”

She whirls around.

Ben Solo stands directly behind her, frozen. His mouth is parted with surprise. In her ear, his voice begins to implore her to leave a message.

The doorman starts to sputter from the entryway. “You know this young lady, sir?”

Ben can't stop staring at her. For a brief and terrible moment, Rey is transported back to Leia Organa’s ballroom. To the moment that his expression grew cold as it passed over her: _Doesn’t ring a bell._

But Ben’s eyes are soft as they take her in. Like he can't quite believe what they're telling him. “Of course I do."

"My apologies." Looking contrite, the man holds open the door. "May I bring those upstairs for you, miss?"

For the first time, Ben seems to notice the copious amount of food in her arms. "No, here - let me -"

He steps very close to her to relieve her of most of the bags. Rey clings the last one to her chest like a life raft. “I brought Chinese,” she offers, as though this explains her presence here.

“Chinese." Ben is not stepping away. He's still looking at her like she's a ghost - poised to vanish at any moment. "Would you like to - come upstairs?"

"No, I just sat in an hour of traffic to dump all this food here and leave."

The doorman doesn't bother to hide his disbelief as he looks back and forth between them.

"Though I already ate at least three of the egg rolls. And a shrimp toast. Since you don't like fish." She can't seem to stop talking. "I'm sorry about the egg rolls, though. There might not be enough for both of us now. So if you wanted to just eat the rest yourself -"

"You can have all the egg rolls, Rey." His eyes are very serious. "Come upstairs with me. Please.”

As she follows him through the door, Rey gives the rude doorman a handful of fortune cookies. She’s feeling particularly generous today.

There are a pair of elevators in the lobby, but Ben leads her past them and into an adjoining corridor. There is a single lift at the end of the hall with no buttons – just a panel for a key fob. _Penthouse,_ reads the label above.

Of course he has his own elevator.

But he doesn’t move to open it. Instead, he clutches the Chinese – oil is starting to sweat through the paper bottoms of the bags – and stares at her.

“This is… unexpected.”

Rey swallows, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “I know you’re probably thinking it’s – very rude of me, showing up here like this. Because it was. And if you want me to leave –“

“You’re not going anywhere.” His ears start to turn pink. “Unless you want to. Go, that is.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

Rey shifts nervously on her feet. “I tried to text you. But I was already on my way, and you didn’t answer, and I didn’t know –“

“I turned off my phone. It’s been a few days.” He is still staring at her so intensely. “Needed to get away from… you know.”

“Oh,” says Rey, feeling stupid. “Yeah. Right.”

The silence hangs over them for a few moments, awkward and tense.

Rey clears her throat. “So did you want to eat here in the hallway?”

This seems to startle him out of his reverie. Ears burning, Ben fumbles with the key fob until it’s pressed against the sensor. The doors immediately glide open.

She doesn’t realize until they have both stepped inside how small a space it is. The doors slide shut, and Rey hugs the bag closer to her chest, against her pounding heart.

He is standing closer than he needs to. It’s a tiny elevator, but he really could move further away.

Rey finds she doesn’t mind.

“I – don’t have a turkey, or anything like that,” Ben says.

“I didn’t come here for turkey.” Her cheeks are growing warm. “Besides, that’s what the Chinese is for.”

“That’s a lot of Chinese for two people.”

“I didn’t know what you wanted.” Rey looks down at the bags in his arms so that she doesn’t have to keep looking into the intensity of his gaze. “And I like to eat.”

“I’ve noticed.” His mouth twitches, and her heart skips a beat. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something else. Something important.

Then the doors slide open, and he finally tears his eyes away from her to exit the lift.

Rey lets out a shaky breath and follows.

* * *

 

He wills his hands not to shake as he unlocks the front door, bags perched precariously on his hip. _Pull yourself together, Solo. Be fucking cool._

Ben feels like the furthest thing from cool as he pushes the door open. He can’t look at her. His mind is racing, producing a hundred things he should have taken care of before bringing her into his home for the first time. Repeatedly, his thoughts get stuck on the incredible fact that she is here at all.

He leads her into the kitchen, placing the bags on the counter. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You _live_ here?”

The awe in her voice makes him finally look up. Rey is wide-eyed with wonder, gaping at the large living space attached to his kitchen, at the floor-to-ceiling windows that open up to the sprawling Pacific.

Ben flushes. “Yeah.”

“This is incredible.” Her eyes don’t stop moving as she walks slowly through the kitchen. It makes his insides squirm pleasantly, to see her in his space like this. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me.”

“I tried to have you here,” he says softly. “I was going to cook for you.”

She stops in front of his counter, where the flowers he’d bought last week are wilting in a vase. A frown creases her forehead.

Ben shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “They were for you. For last weekend.”

“Poor things look so thirsty.” Tenderly, Rey lifts them from the vase. “Have you got a pair of scissors?”  
  
He watches with amazement as she changes out the water, adding some sugar and vinegar from the pantry. Biting her lower lip, she gathers the stems under the running kitchen faucet and snips a few inches off the bottom.  
  
“There we go.” She arranges them in the vase. “They’ll last a few more days now.”  
  
A lump has formed in his throat. He likes seeing her here, in his kitchen. Touching his things. He likes it very much.  
  
And then the question comes tumbling out, like he can’t hold it back any longer.  
  
“Why are you here, Rey?”  
  
She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers skim across the wilting petals, examining them with a frown. “I saw your movie,” she says at last. “On the television today. Just a few minutes of it.”  
  
“Oh.” He blinks. That was… not the answer he had been expecting.  
  
“You’re a very good actor, you know.”  
  
“Yes.” Ben’s jaw twitches. “I know.”  
  
“It made me realize something.”  
  
Rey turns to him then, hands on her hips. Her eyes are flashing with - not anger, exactly. But just as fierce of an emotion.  
  
“You’re not acting when you’re around me," she tells him. "You don’t turn into – whoever that guy was at your mother’s party. Smiling and waving at people. You hardly ever smile around me. But when you do… It’s like everything else falls away. It’s my favorite feeling in the world, making you smile.”  
  
Ben feels a bit lightheaded, his heart is pounding so quickly. His voice is very thick. “You have given me - so many reasons to, Rey."  
  
“I don’t want you to ever stop.” She moves toward him. “I know you, Ben. Better than any of those people. I don’t know why you didn’t just bloody – tell me the truth, right from the beginning. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I can see now that you were giving me the truth about the rest of it.”  
  
Rey is standing right in front of him now. She is so close that he can see the freckles in her eyes – like tiny constellations, beckoning him. Like so many flecks of stardust.  
  
“And in the end… that’s all that really matters.” She looks so earnest. So sweet. His fingers itch with the urge to touch her cheeks, her hair. Her mouth. “Isn’t it?”  
  
Ben cannot hold himself back any longer. He’s done nothing but hold back since he met this beautiful girl, and now everything is out there – all of it – the ugliest parts of him, laid bare in the space between them. And she is only moving closer. She isn’t backing away.  
  
She’s here. Blinking up at him. With clear, limpid eyes that see everything that he is – and still keep probing deeper.  
  
Ben leans down and kisses her.  
  
Her mouth is so soft. So small. It fits perfectly against his. He catches the plump swell of her bottom lip between his own, and the sensation of her opening to him – the damp heat of her breath in his mouth – is so intimate that his heart twists and shudders in his chest.  
  
It’s only been a week since they last kissed. But that is far too long when he should be kissing her all the time. It’s an eternity when he wants to kiss her every day like this, over and over, for the rest of his life.  
  
She makes the smallest sound in the back of her throat _(it might be his name – he prays it is his name),_ and then her hot little tongue licks the tip of his own.  
  
It is all the invitation he needs.  
  
He pulls her flush against him. Her body is so soft and warm, yielding where his is not. She makes another noise, and he tangles his hand in her hair. God, it makes his head spin how she leans into it – how his palm nearly covers the entire back of her head.  
  
She surges up against him like the tide – and he is the moon, barren and dark, blinded by her sunlight.  
  
Rey tastes like salt and desire on his lips. It makes him want to lick the inside of her mouth until she tastes like him. Ben slides his hand to her waist, crowds her against the kitchen counter. And god help him, she whimpers as the granite digs into her back, as he slips his tongue into her mouth and strokes it against hers.  
  
Then his fingers brush up against a paper bag, and it sends a horrified jolt of realization through him. “Rey.” He pulls away long enough to gasp her name against her face. “Rey, the egg rolls, they’ll get cold –“  
  
“Fuck the egg rolls.” Rey’s hands twist in his shirt and yank him back to her. And Ben groans, because he is pathetic – because he has thought about doing this, pressing her against every surface in his home – about stripping her naked and fucking her until he has made her come on every piece of furniture he owns. And now she is here, making the sweetest little noises as he ravages her, and he’s not sure he’ll even make it that far.  
  
Somehow, he still manages to pull away, panting, so he can press his forehead against hers.  
  
“Are you sure about this?”  
  
It’s the most difficult thing he’s ever said. Even his voice – strangled and rough – seems to rebel against uttering the words. But he won’t allow her to regret this. If they’re going to do this _(and oh god oh_ god _how his head swims at the thought of this this_ this _)_ , he needs to make it so good for her that she’ll want to do it again.  
  
Rey’s hands slide up his neck, cradling his face, and for a moment Ben can’t breathe as she stares into his eyes. “Yes, Ben. Yes. I’ve wanted this for – so long –“  
  
“How long?” He sounds urgent, demanding, as he pins her further against the counter. He is suddenly overcome with the need to know. “Tell me how long.”  
  
“Since the first day. When you were on my table – oh _god_ … the way you looked while I was touching you… do you remember?“  
  
Of course he remembers. Ben buries his face in her neck. He needs to have his mouth on her, but she can’t keep talking if he’s kissing her. “Fuck, Rey. _Yes_ . Tell me more.”  
  
“When you opened your eyes, the look that you gave me, I – _ahh_ – I remember thinking that I never wanted to stop.”  
  
“You were so _good_ for me, sweetheart. Even then.” He takes her little hands from his face, presses them down on either side of her so they’re gripping the counter. He's already losing himself to this - to the softness of her throat, the way her breath stutters around her words. To the dark and possessive heat that coils in his abdomen whenever he makes her this way.  
  
His nose nudges along the shell of her ear. “Do you want to know what I was thinking?”  
  
“Please.” Rey’s face is flushed against his cheek. Her chin tips back, exposing her throat. “Tell me.”  
  
“I was thinking of all the ways I could return the favor.” Dark pleasure courses through him when she shivers against his body. “I thought about how you would look if I stretched you out across that table myself. How I could touch you until you were lazy and pliant for me – and then the ways I could make your muscles tense instead.”  
  
He’s touching her now. Hands sliding up her ribcage, gentle and firm as they smooth along the thin fabric. He can feel how her quickly her heart is beating. It makes his mouth dry.  
  
“You’ve always made me feel so good, Rey.” He croons the words against her throat, so soft and fragile beneath his lips. “Do you want me to make you feel good too?”

Her hands come up to cover his, where they span her ribcage. Rey tilts her head until he’s looking her in the eye again.

“I want you to take off my clothes.” Her voice has taken on the tone it acquires when she’s giving him instructions during their sessions. “I want you to bring me to your bedroom and touch me. Everywhere. Can you do that for me, Ben?”

At any other time, he would take great pleasure in establishing that he’s the one who calls the shots here – in teasing her until she is begging wetly for his touch, not demanding it. But something in her eyes stops the breath in his throat. In his mind, she is already naked before him, telling him where to put his hands for her pleasure. He needs to know how all that golden skin would look tangled in his sheets, her lovely body twisting and shivering under his mouth.

“Yes.” His fingers tighten possessively around her ribs. “I believe I can make that happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW GUYS. I know. Please direct all your complaints to my beta, KyloTrashForever, who insisted that I needed to slice this chapter in half. Because you haven't all been through enough torture with this story.
> 
> I already have another 2,000 words written of the next part, though, so you won't need to wait for long <3
> 
> Thank you guys for sticking with me through all this angst. Your words of support and encouragement have meant so much to me. I am only just starting to catch up with your comments from last chapter but I promise I will reply if I haven't already!!
> 
> Hope everyone's holidays were merry and bright <3
> 
> ([follow me on twitter](https://ohwise1ne.tumblr.com/post/181559784254/a-good-fall-by-ohwise1ne-rating-e-chapter-14) because that's where I hang out most of the time now)


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